Dream You To Me
by elluvias
Summary: Dreams showed Florien many things, of pain and death, of happy smiles and love. Now cutting a bloody swath across Fereldan and building an army, he's picking up the pieces of others' broken things. Maker help us all. m/m crossdressing
1. Dreams Are Hidden Things

Florien gasped for air, fingers reaching out for a boy who wasn't there. A cry was choked back, it was still too early for the other apprentices to wake up and he didn't want the Templars coming in swords drawn because he'd once again had a nightmare. Sliding out of his bed, his bare feet hit the cold stone floor and he shivered as it raced through his body. No more sleep for him, he couldn't go back to watching that scene, he couldn't keep watching the other boy being tortured. His own memories of a time not too long ago, when whips had kissed his back and opened him up making him bleed, echoed in his head. The healers at the tower said he'd always have scars there, that they could do nothing to soften them or make them go away.

Slipping his robes on and fastening the buckles around his waist Florien slipped the two daggers he had pilfered from the kitchen into the hiding places his mother had taught him to. Putting on his slippers and finishing up his daily ritual of getting dressed and ready, Florien slipped out of the apprentice quarters and went to the library. He smiled at a few of the Templars as he passed, feeling on edge as he felt their eyes following him.

When he got to the library he saw a familiar figure. The dark shaggy hair, the slight slump of the shulders and the pale skin. It could only be one person. Relief washed through him, he had thought he would have to wait til breakfast to see Jowan. Silently running over to his friend he grabbed the sleeve of his robe and tugged, making Jowan face him.

"Jowan I had a dream again last night."

Florien shifted from foot to foot, faintly distressed and entirely embarrassed. The ribbon that held his hair from his face was tied into a pretty bow. He fiddled with the end of the ribbon as he waited for his friend's sage advice as to what exactly he should do what these dreams could mean. Jowan was the only apprentice who had befriended him, he was the only apprentice who seemed to know more about the going ons at the circle than anyone else. Jowan didn't care about any of the things that made Florien different, and Florien loved him for it. Everyone else thought he was the 'snooty Orleasian knife-ear', they liked the other elves just fine, it was just the fact he wasn't Fereldan made everyone else wary of him.

"I've heard of mages who can see the future and even see things that are happening right now. It's a rare gift though Flor, and the Chantry says it's a sign that a mage could fall into Blood Magic. Seeing what's ahead or seeing something remotely, it's supposedly not of the Maker. You've got to keep this a secret. I don't want you hurt." Jowan took a tendril of Florien's hair, marveling at how soft it was, how the color was like that of roses and blood. Florien wasn't like the rest of them, anyone with eyes could see it. It wasn't even that his friend wore female apprentice robes either. It was something different. "You're my best friend, we've got to look out for each other."

"What of him Jowan? What of the boy, he…Maker they were torturing him!" Florien's voice rose in pitch, tears filling his eyes as his hands moved. Florien always moved his hands while he talked, they were graceful and slender, good for so many things especially making spells or chopping ingredients for potions. His heart was aching, he felt so connected to the boy, he knew his pain. He could see the anguished look in the other elf's eyes in his mind, he could see the fury and the defeat when men took a pair of gloves from him. "They took something from him and punished him, he was bleeding so badly…" A hiccupping sob escaped from Florien as the nine year old boy rubbed at his eyes, relaxing into Jowan's arms when his friend enveloped him in a hug.

"He'll survive Flor, he'll live. Now come, you need to dry your eyes and smile again. We don't want the Templars wondering what's got you in a fit. Shh now that's a good. Yes there and all you need to top it off is this." Florien closed his eyes and relaxed even more when Jowan's lips brushed against his forehead. He knew Jowan would always be there, would always make him smile and soothe his fears. The human boy loved Florien like a sibling, a little 'sister' to play with, to protect, to tease, to love. Florien was Jowan's, no one would argue with that, save perhaps the First Enchanter who could just as easily get Florien to smile.

Florien's smile had been so rare those first few months he'd come to the Tower. Jowan could remember how utterly sad he'd looked, how there was such sadness and suffering in those big golden eyes. He had wanted to fix that. The other apprentices were bastards in his head for not seeing how hurt the little elf was, nothing good had happened to him to bring him to the tower. Jowan wasn't stupid, he knew those scars on the elf's back had been fresh. They were years old, they were weeks, maybe months at best. Also the boy had lost someone important, his mother. Jowan had pried it from Florien one night when the young elf had been crying softly in the apprentice quarters. His mother was dead and Florien wanted something, anything he could to remind himself of her so he dressed like her hoping one day when he grew up when he looked into the mirror he would see her face looking back at him.

Jowan knew Florien did his best to emulate his mother. She had been a Bard? Yes that is what Florien had called her. Florien told him stories, of legends, of far off places Florien could barely remember but spoke of anyway, of people and things. Jowan soaked it up like a sponge, listening with fascination as the young elf wove stories like a master. There were other things too Florien tried to do that Bards were supposed to, like sneaking around on quiet feet, of listening for secrets, and picking locks. They were also supposed to look pretty. Jowan knew Florien had the last part down pat, no one could deny that Florien was the prettiest apprentice they had.

"Now come on over here and let me teach you this spell I just learned it's called Winter's Grasp." Florien knew that Jowan was trying to distract him, and he knew that as always it would work. He was advanced for his age in the realm of magic, partially because he was a quick learner and partially because Jowan's favorite method of cheering Florien up, or distracting him, was to teach the younger apprentice something, anything about magic. It was fulfilling seeing the look of concentration and joy on Florien's face when he mastered new spells.

A warm feeling eased inside Jowan's heart. He knew it was love, Florien could inspire that in anyone who he focused his attention on. He could charm even the Templars with that wide almost shy smile and infectious laugh. If everyone else just gave him the chance they'd see, like he and Irving did the truth about Florien Surana.

He was the Maker's gift to man.


	2. The Maker Saves Those Who Ask

"Jowan….no Jowan… Pourquoi mon ami? Pourquoi avez-vous fait cela?" Florien's voice was agonized as he bent over Irving, touching the elder mage's face with soft hands. Tears blurred his vision, falling down his cheeks in a steady stream. His breath hitched as he helped Irving up, arms trembling and cheeks flushed with the effort to keep himself contained.

Greagoir would want his head. Foolish Jowan, foolish foolish Jowan. They had talked, who hadn't, of what would happen if they learned blood magic. He was interested, they both were but Florien knew it was dangerous, deadly to even harbor thoughts of learning that magic within the confines of the Tower. He did not want to disappoint Irving either. Irving who had taken him under his wing, Irving who had supported his wishes in dressing and acting like a woman, Irving who had taught him so many things. Irving was as close to a father as Florien had ever had, the kind First Enchanter had wiped Florien's tears when he cried, and had been far more steady a friend than Jowan had been. Florien had only wanted to save Jowan from disgrace, to keep him from death, which was where that foolish plan had lead to.

"Nothing, I took nothing." His accent was back; strong as it had been the first day he'd arrived. His eyes turned to Greagoir. "I was following orders, it was my duty to Irving to help him! It was…oh I did not know, Jowan lied. Why did you lie? Why why why?" His breath caught in his throat. Hands outstretched as he gestured wildly.

"Still your actions have made a mockery of The Circle!"

"What? I…non! S'il vous plait Greagoir, s'il vous plait. The Circle is my home." Blinking back tears Florien moved away from the Knight Commander, his heart was hammering in his chest. He dared not draw on his magic, not in a room full of angry templars, but he was not going to go down without a fight. His mind reeled back, falling partially into memory as he remembered the circumstances that had brought about this terrible horrible mess.

Florien felt anger towards Lily, towards Jowan. Jowan was like his brother, they had kept nothing from each other! Or so Florien had thought. The bitter taste of betrayal was in his mouth, acidic and hateful. Jowan was the last mage Florien would ever believe, would ever imagine, to betray him. Jowan who had protected him from other apprentices when they were younger. Jowan who had wiped away his tears with soothing words when Florien had a nightmare. Jowan who had taught him spells before he was supposed to know them. Jowan who had, Maker above Florien had loved Jowan more than anything else in the world beside the First Enchanter. A sob escaped from Florien's throat, his anguish threatening to overtake him.

'Save me…' Florien thought to himself. 'Maker save me from this, I will do what you want, but please do not punish me for a sin that is not my own.' He would not go down without a fight; he would not surrender himself to the hands of men who he knew would take out their anger on him. He would not add more scars to his back, he would not humiliate himself any more for Jowan. Pretty lips pulled back into a snarl and he palmed the two daggers that suddenly appeared in his hand, as if by magic though all the templars knew it was simply Florien's quick movements and cunning hiding places that allowed for such easy access to those simple weapons. "You will not take me as easily as Lily mon amis, for in this I hold no sin to feel guilty over. Hunt down Jowan if you need blood sport but you will not take me for his crimes!"

Templars drew their swords and aimed them at Florien. Gripping the pommels of his daggers in tight fists, Florien shifted his stance, falling into a defensive position. He had trained for years, staring at books and trying to get the position just so. Still for all that Florien knew he was no Bard. He was a mage, and mages were not exactly taught combat like Templars. In fact they were taught the exact opposite, which would give the Templars an advantage.

A throat clearing took away most of the tension in the room. Florien glanced over at the sound, surprised to see Duncan walking towards them. Florien had known since the first time he laid eyes on Duncan that something was different about the man. Duncan was something special; he had something that no one else in Florien's long years at the Circle had. It was quality and a presence beyond measure. Duncan simply did not inhabit a space; he owned it with quiet dignity. He did not overlook a single thing, even if his eyes did not seem to linger long; it was only because the man was quick enough to memorize it on a first glance. Florien could remember staring into those dark eyes, feeling them probing his innermost secrets, examining every flaw he had, and instead of retreating, instead of blushing and feeling embarrassed Florien had straightened and stared right back. Florien was not as skilled as Duncan, but he tried to do the same. He met that stare and did not try to build defenses. He did not hide. He had wondered if it was a test, for the demon Mouse had said that true tests never ended. How odd to get sage advice from a demon. Still the examined each other, silently for a few seconds before Florien had to turn his attention back to the First Enchanter.

"I am not only looking for mages for the King's army, I am also looking for them for the Order."

Greagoir paled, Florien had not seen Greagoir ever do that before. Then the fury was back, a raging fury as Greagoir denied Duncan his request.

"I would like to protect my country." Florien's voice had eased once more, his stance still wary but he was no longer feeling like a mouse trapped in a corner. "I would like to serve, magic exists to serve man never to rule over him. I am here, I have magic, and the Grey Wardens serve not just men, but all races." His comment drew smiles from Irving and Duncan though only seemed to draw Greagoir farther into his wrath. Though he would not admit it aloud, Florien had always liked Greagoir, he was like another father to him. A very strict unyielding father, but one who stood between him and the horrors of the outside world. Florien could also see, though he tried to not see simply so he could give them privacy, how Greagoir and Irving interacted. How they spoke and bantered, and felt comfortable with each other. They were like an old married couple, the first blush of romance long faded into something stronger and longer lasting. Perhaps it was this odd relationship, and how Florien knew he had come to matter even just a little in Greagoir's life that made the old Templar so angry. Perhaps he was worried, that there was going to be danger untold in Florien's future in any matter and Greagoir was angry that he could not protect him from it.

Florien felt his heart softening a bit more, even as he still felt the open bleeding wounds on his heart. He smiled at both Irving and Greagoir, his golden eyes softening. "I am going to fight and perhaps my help with turn the tide in battle and keep the Blight from taking over." He put away his daggers and stood, waiting for the formalities to go aside. If he did not go now, then he would escape and find Duncan then. He did not mention it to anyone, ever save Jowan, that it was Florien who had helped teach Anders how to pick locks and scout the Tower for various ways to escape. Florien was comfortable in his cage, but Anders was not, just as many others were not. The Tower could stifle the life right out of someone if you did not tread carefully.

"Go child and always remember the Circle never forgets its own."

Irving's gravelly voice had Florien taking several steps before he wrapped his arms around the old mage. He held onto him tightly breathing in the scent of magic, potions, and old musty books that was unique to the First Enchanter. It felt like a hand was squeezing his heart, making the throb of Jowan's betrayal ache more. Jowan had left him to his fate, but Irving, Irving was fighting for Florien's freedom and safety. Florien loved the old man for it.

"Take care First Enchanter and light a candle for me, so I may always have a light leading me back home."

He stepped back and nodded at Greagoir, silently communicating that he would be well, that he would miss him, and to not be too hard on the younger apprentices. Finally he let his gaze rest on the only other person within the room who he cared to say goodbye to.

"Cullen…"

Florien's voice was soft and he reached up, standing on his tip toes to let his fingers glide across the tanned skin of his favorite Templar. He did no more than this, just content to touch, however briefly, the one man who had made Florien want. The one man Florien could never have because vows stood in the way, vows of chastity that Florien would not coerce or ask Cullen to break. Cullen's duty was as important to him as Florien's duty was to Florien. Still Florien could not help but dream of maybe, of imagining more even as a tiny voice in the back of his head protested. Cullen had his affection, his desire, but they could never love each other openly. Could not even do as what Irving and Greagoir did behind carefully closed and warded doors. Besides what of the man, that beautiful haunted bloody man, whose life Florien had witnessed in visions, whose soul he had met in the Fade, the one who whispered in his ear of how Florien would be his. Forever his and only his and that he would make Florien forget about the charms of naïve Chantry boys.

That man was simply a dream, and would forever only be a dream. Just as all other dreams but not dreams were.

"Be strong Cullen, be watchful, and be safe."

"F-florien, may the Maker watch over you."

"May the Maker watch over us all, my Templar." His voice was soft and bittersweet as one last lingering caress flittered across Cullen's cheek before Florien turned to look at Duncan. He walked away from the Circle then and into the Grey, he felt as if tiny silken threads that had bound him were suddenly cut loose and once again he was free to spread his wings and fly.

They made only one stop, to his trunk where he used the offered pack to place any items Florien could not live without. His most guarded, most prized possession were a silver comb and brush, engraved with flowers and vines, a most Orlesian luxury but it was not of Orlesian make. Jowan had given it to him years passed, enchanted to never break, to never tarnish, to always shine so prettily. It had always reminded Florien of his mother, when he used them, and despite Jowan's betrayal he could not simply leave them behind.

"You've travelled before."

It was a statement, not a question, that was posed to him by Duncan when they had stepped off the boat and started their journey. Florien chanced a glance at Duncan, weighing his options and how he should answer for a moment.

"Yes." He said finally, his voice no longer so thick with foreign accent, now only colored but something sweet and lilting. It was an ambiguous voice, a lovely alto, bordering on tenor, that was smooth and rich. It was a voice that captured the attention of those who heard it, bringing their attention to what Florien was saying. "It has been a long time since I have walked roads, so I am not fit for long stretches yet, but once I walked all of Thedas."

"Not alone you must have been a child." And Florien smiled at Duncan's observation.

"Yes, it was not alone. I walked with my mother she was not Dalish, not like my father. She was Orlesian, and she was a Bard. She travelled many places, Antiva, Orlais, forests and woods, open roads and fields small villages, grand cities. Fereldan was the last place we travelled. She died and I then went to the Chantry and the Templars, seeking refuge."

"Did she know?" Florien could feel Duncan's eyes on him, once again trying to see the truth of Florien, what lay behind the pretty smile and makeup. Florien turned his gaze towards the sun. Florien did not know that Duncan was looking at him and remembering another, whose smile was just as sweet but who had an attitude that could challenge even the most patient of men. Though Duncan wondered if it was Kateriel or Fiona that held the strongest resemblance to Florien. Maric would have liked this young man, and remembering his dear friend and dead king brought about a pain to his heart. Yet he didn't let himself get too lost in his memories and musing, preferring to listen to his newest recruit and gauge how well he would do amongst the others.

"Yes, it is why we travelled so much; she took assignments that would never keep her in any place for too long. She told me my father was a keeper for a Dalish clan, that he was very powerful, and one day she knew I would be like him. That she was going to be selfish and hold me for as long as she could before Templars came and took me to the Tower. I think she would have preferred me going to Orlais' Circle, but one cannot choose what fate deals out, only how to play the cards given. I am Fereldan now, my life might have begun in Orlais, but the Circle became my home when I had nothing left."

He was wise, Duncan could see it now. Despite being caged, despite being secluded and inundated with Chantry teachings, Florien had experienced pain and suffering, had kept a head on his shoulders and dealt with the wounds as best he could, and if what Duncan had seen was correct Florien held a fighting spirit that would not give up or back down. It was that tenacity that was carefully hidden, that strength of spirit that was veiled in those warm golden eyes, that made Duncan realize that this recruit would be perfect. He would face the horrors of the Blight, help them fight the Darkspawn, fight the Archdemon, and would not break or waver. Duncan could imagine this pretty little slip of an elf curling his lips back into a ferocious snarl, like he had given the Templars only hours before, and dared them with every breath to take him down, warning without saying that he would make them pay for every drop of blood they wished to get and that his spirit would never break beneath them. He would be righteous fury on the battlefield, quick and destructive. 'He should work well with Alistair' Duncan mused to himself. Florien would be the kind of friend the young warden would need, a kind ear, and soothing smile, and a strong immovable presence when Florien felt like someone was about to do something stupid. He could see Irving was correct, Florien would make a great Warden.

Maker knew they needed those.


	3. Of Glasses and Other Broken Things

It was a nightmare born reality.

Florien stared at the cup, disgust curling in his stomach at the vile concoction. Twas no wonder in his mind on why the Wardens accepted blood mages into their ranks. To become one, one had to use it, to succumb to blood magic, to submit oneself to the Taint. Small hands, slender hands that hadn't spilled the blood of men in twelve long years was now covered in the vilest blood Florien could imagine. Now he was to take that-that stuff into him?

Madness, utter madness.

He reached for it anyway. He took the cup from Duncan's hands, his heart pounding painfully against his ribs, even his pulse points hurt. Daveth, poor Daveth. It killed him, this poison blood, this darkness calling him in. Tears slipped from his eyes as he closed them, bringing the Joining Chalic to his lips and swallowing that viscous liquid. He forced his throat to keep it inside, ordered his stomach not to push it back up before the poison killed him.

Burning pain, twisting agony that scorched and burned and killed, went down his throat and into his stomach, curling and gnawing at his insides like a wild beastial thing. He could feel its claws digging into his very soul, ripping him apart. He wanted to scream, opened his mouth to do so, but no sound came out. A shudder passed through his body, hands loosening their grip on the chalice, letting it fall to the ground with a clang. He couldn't see, he could only feel this pain, terrible pain. He was changing, he was dying, and he had done it willingly. He had taken this foulness inside.

Then the whispers came, assaulting his mind, before they grew louder and louder. So many voices, all inside his head and none made sense. Nothing made sense, except he was dying.

_No_.

He forced himself to think. He drew upon his will and snarled at this whispers inside his head, snarled at the darkness filling his pores and thrumming through his veins.

_You. Will. Not. Conquer. Me._

Each word was a single thought, and each thought gave him power. It gave him fury. He would not die tonight. Twisting and snarling he fought death back, he shouted the voices silent. Then, as if it realized it could not take him it withdrew, curling up inside him and falling into a light slumber, ever there ready to wake and fight again. It was no mindless thing, it lived, it knew and was wise, it would take him by inches until it backed him into a corner, Florien would have to be ever vigilant from this day til his death to make sure he did not let this beast take him over.

He woke then, his body wracked with pain and eyes bleary. He gave a dry smile to Alistair, accepting his hand. A soft grunt escaped him when he stood on unsteady legs. Oh Maker did they have anything to get the taste out of his mouth? Perhaps some dwarven ale, that foul brew would be able to get it out of his mouth, he'd heard Templars speaking of it before. Surely that concoction could wash away the taste of Darkspawn and evil. Perhaps scraping his tongue or licking a lamp post would get it off his tongue.

"Two more deaths, only one of us died in my Joining. How are you feeling?"

Florien smiled more freely now, fingers running through the loose strands of hair framing his face. "That was worse than my Harrowing." It was the most diplomatic thing that he could say since his only other thought was how foul it had been and exactly how foul would probably make the templar blush. He didn't accuse Duncan of murder. It was blood magic, a dark ritual, and should anyone find out that that was what it would take to become a Warden… If the Chantry didn't try to destroy them for that, then the order would be destroyed simply because no 'decent' person would be willing to join, and if they were lucky the Wardens would get some apostates and maleficars. Which they already did, mind you, but the Order would not be able to survive on that alone. Jory would have either drunk from the cup, or died, or well both just as Daveth showed him they could.

"Get yourself ready, we have an important meeting with the King."

Florien snapped to attention at Duncan's quiet order. Looking over at Alistair the older Warden smiled and shrugged, making a motion of the pretty face would probably be the reason as to why Duncan had chosen Florien over Alistair for listening to the meeting. Great he was going to listen to the battle plans simply because he was a pretty elf, not because he had any real skills, but because Cailan would like to look at him. A faint scowl crossed his features and Alistair only laughed, patting Florien on the head.

"Better you then me." Was the glib reply before Alistair wandered off. "Make sure he doesn't make you dance the Remigold." Alistair shouted over his shoulder. Florien giggled, relaxing more at Alistair's jokes before straightening out his robes and making sure his hair was still in a tightly coiled bun at the top of his head. It was a quick process, checking himself mentally, feeling an odd increase of mana before he deemed himself worthy of an audience with a King, especially a King as lax as Cailan.

"I understand congratulations are in order?" Florien respectfully lowered his eyes, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks. He had taken no more than two steps in the direction of Duncan before Cailan's eyes had found him. "Yes your majesty." Feeling oddly ill at ease with so much attention on him, then the moment passed and Florien was once again in the background watching Loghain and Cailan fight. He started to drift off, mind falling back into his own thoughts, wondering how he was to fight and survive in this battle. He'd only fought with a handful of people, how was he to take into account hundreds of others when he was casting spells. Surely setting his allies on fire would be a good thing.

"We should send our best, this new recruit and Alistair."

Blinking as Florien was brought back into reality, his mouth opened and closed silently. He was to what? Somehow he felt some of his unease pass. It was a simple job, one that even a mere guard could do, but Cailan wanted Grey Wardens at the top of the Tower so Grey Wardens he would get. He felt as if death had touched his cheek, about to grasp his hair to take him forward before letting him go with a silent sigh and passed him over. Death, Florien could feel that specter here, even if it was only his imagination.

'_**HE LEFT THEM TO DIE! NO! NO! RUN! RUN!' **_

Florien could hear his owns screams piercing through his head from years past. How he wished Jowan was here, then thought better of it. Jowan would be no help here, not any more. Rubbing his face with his hand tiredly, Florien silently followed Duncan to the fire.

Alistair was unamused, his anger almost palpable as he protested against Cailan's orders. A worried frown crossed his features. "We should be out there." He offered, if only to help Alistair feel as if someone understood his feelings. Still something primal inside Florien, the integral part of him that never truly left the Fade, protested against this. Something was wrong, something dark was just over the horizon, and Florien knew that whatever it was, be it darkspawn or worse, that blood would soak the lands tonight and possibly sunder the Veil forever.

"Grey Wardens do whatever is necessary to end a Blight, glorious or not. If the King wants you on top of the Tower then that's where you'll be."

"Just so you know if the King Orders me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold I draw the line, Darkspawn or no." Alistair muttered with a scowl and Florien let his hand rest against the former Templar's arm. "But I'd like to see that." A teasing smile played on Florien's features and Alistair turned to him and grinned, anger momentarily forgotten. "For you, maybe, but it'd have to be a pretty dress." Duncan groaned rolling his eyes and pleading to the Maker for patience, wondering if this was how Genevieve felt when she had to deal with him and Fiona. "I think I can arrange that." Florien whispered conspiratorially to his fellow warden and Duncan fought back a smile as Alistair grinned, happy that the blond had found a friend.

When it was time for them to part, Florien waited for Alistair to say his goodbye before Florien went up to the Warden Commander. Overcome he threw his arms around the older man's neck, pressing close and holding onto him tightly. "Duncan…" His voice choked for a moment before he pulled back, staring into the dark wise eyes of a man who'd seen more in his days than several people in their lifetimes. How could he tell this man of the unease, of the desperate fear clawing at his gut, that there was danger out there. Pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth he moved to bite his bottom lip before settling on the words. "The Maker has turned his gaze away, tonight we are forsaken." Duncan's pupils contracted, eyes widening minutely before the grizzled man schooled his features once more. He rested his hand on Florien's head. "Then we protect men in his stead. Florien, watch over him if anything should happen." A faint tilt of his head indicated Alistair and Florien nodded. Letting go of his Commander Florien stepped back. "Duncan, thank you for everything and…goodbye." A tiny piece of his heart broke when he turned his back, knowing that by the time he reached Alistair by the bridge, Duncan had already made his way down to the battlefield.

Collecting his pack, Florien took everything he felt they needed. Poultices and lyrium potions, food, and any sentimental trinket he felt that they could not do without. He also took the treaties. If he was wrong then he would accept Duncan's punishment, and he hoped, he prayed to the Maker that it would not go as he feared.

How soon he had been proven wrong. Fight after blood fight, rooms filled with Darkspawn. It was his mother's voice in his ear that had Alistair and the guards stopping every room, searching through wooden crates and boxes to get everything they could carry. Florien even raided the bodies, his pale skin flecked with darkspawn blood as he rifled through pockets, his gaze almost remote as he kept himself detached from the gruesome task.

"What are they doing here, there shouldn't be any resistance here!" Alistair's voice filtered through Florien's haze and he turned, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Then perhaps you should tell them they're in the wrong place." "Riiiiight of course, it's all a mix up. We'll laugh about this later." A sound burst from Florien, somewhere between a giggle and a snort and he gripped his staff tighter.

Finally, finally they reached the top. Then they saw it. Florien's mind rejected the sheer size of the thing, it was absurd. Truly it was, and how on earth did it get all the way up here? Some of the doorways surely couldn't have allowed this thing to walk through. Had it simply spawned there, made of terror, death, and blood? Whatever it was it was going to die.

"Go!"

Florien shouted at the men, hand gripping his staff as he channeled his energy through it. Enchanting their weapons in fire, Florien then turned and sent a wave of foul magic at the Ogre hoping that the continuous spirit damage would weaken it by turns. He ripped the Veil here, throwing spell after spell, ice, then fire, lightening, and a healing to an ally. Florien's mana drained rapidly, he hadn't, not even in the Kocari wilds had he spent so much mana in a combat. Would this thing never die? Then as if time had slowed down Florien watched as Alistair made one final leap, scaling the creature and knocking it back. Florien watched in awe as the blond brought his sword down into the Ogre's skull, a sickening spurt of blood coating Alistair.

Rushing to the other side of the room, Florien raided the open barrels not broken by the Ogre, finding prizes before Alistair speaking to him. "We've surely missed the signal, let's light the beacon. Hurry!" Dragging his weary body forward, Florien waited til he had enough mana to cast a fire spell. Turning around he opened his mouth to talk to Alistair, to tell him it was done when he heard the sound of arrows.

He couldn't even scream blood welling up in his mouth, spilling out over his lips and down his chin as he tried to breath. Staggering back he lifted his hand, outstretched towards Alistair, though not asking for safety, not beseeching for help, but in a labored motion of dismissal. _Run, run Alistair. _He willed in his mind, eyes falling shut as his lifeblood poured from his body. He fell backwards, into an abyss, and he wondered as he fell if this was what glasses felt like when they were knocked off a table.


	4. Never To Be Left Behind Again

So death was…a hut. Sort of anticlimactic was all Florien had to say. A hut. In the Fade. Great that was his life achievements were worth, a hut in the Maker forsaken Fade. He hoped he had a garden in his hut, that would be nice. He liked flowers. Sitting up in the rather uncomfortable bed Florien glanced around. Wow it was a shitty hut.

"Ah your eyes finally open, Mother shall be pleased."

"I-I remember you, you're the girl from the Wilds." Florien felt his heartbeat quicken. He knew mages could walk the Fade with the aid of lyrium or blood magic but…taking a closer look of the hut he realized one thing. It wasn't nearly creepy enough to be a part of the Fade. Preconceptions were dangerous, but for all his time spent there Florien felt he would know the Fade from reality.

"I am Morrigan lest you have forgotten and we are in the Wilds. Where I am bandaging your wounds, you're welcome by the way. Tell me how does your memory fare? Do you remember mother's rescue?"

He frowned then, staring up into the golden eyes of Morrigan. He would have to admit, she was a beautiful woman, in an untamed feral manner. Her eyes were like his own, an odd gold color but whereas Florien's were more towards warm sunsets or glowing fires, hers were quick and sharp, predatory like some wild cat. How odd it was that even though they both had golden eyes they could be so different. Yet now was not the time to contemplate the coloration of Morrigan's eyes, now was the time to piece his memory back together.

"I remember being overwhelmed by Darkspawn…"

Oh Maker…they had been. Florien could remember the frantic beating of his heart slowing down, his world going dark and how he had been falling. Faintly he could remember bestial screams, Darkspawn coming towards them. Blood drained from his face, listening with only half an ear as Morrigan spoke of what had happened. Grief welled up inside him, tears shimmering in his eyes. They did not fall as he closed his eyes, then as grief began to recede he felt fury sparking inside him again.

Loghain.

That name was carved into his mind, he etched it there with a bloody finger. Loghain would pay for his betrayal in a way Florien had never truly imagined or wished upon Jowan. Loghain was going to die, but not in the natural way. No, Florien would find the most heinous unnatural means possible to make that bastard pay for what he did.

"Your friend, he…is not taking it well." His attention was immediately placed upon Morrigan once more, his entire focus on her.

"You mean Alistair?" He did not hide the hope in his voice, the tension in his body as he hung on her words. Alistair, if Alistair was alive then perhaps Loghain would simply just die rather than be gruesomely and publicly executed. Treason was a terrible thing and Cailan, poor Cailan. He had been a bit daft in the head, and a bit too naïve, but Florien had seen such kindness in his eyes that he had felt affection for him. Like a puppy, Cailan had been a big overgrown puppy just wanting love and affection and now the puppy was dead.

"The suspicious dim witted one with you before? Yes."

The fist around Florien's heart eased, though he wished to correct her. The suspicious dim witted one had been Jory, who was now dead. She would not care for such things, and his own thoughts were almost muddled in his head.

"He is outside by the fire, mother wished to speak with you when you awoke."

"Morrigan? Thank you." Florien was sincere as he spoke to her, rising from the bed with as much dignity and grace he could muster. "I…you are welcome. Mother did most of the work I am no healer." He was aching, though thankfully only shallow wounds now lay where there had once been life threatening holes. Reaching for his pack he found his set of spare robes, he slipped them on feeling vaguely more at ease now that he had his clothes on and no one could so easily see he was a man. He quickly and more than a little guiltily tore open the Veil, letting magic engulf his hands as he swept it over the length of his hair, feeling it lift and twist into a tight bun. He knew his actions didn't go unnoticed by Morrigan who smiled at him knowingly but he ignored it. Time was of the essence and 'misuse of magic' was simply going to have to take a number and wait in line in the now long line of concerns he had.

"See, you worry too much young man. Here is your fellow Grey Warden." Florien thought he had slipped out of the hut quietly, but somehow the elder witch knew the moment he walked out, even as her back was turned to him. Something about her…Florien could not say what it was that unsettled him so about the elder witch. Morrigan did not give him this feeling, this sense of disquiet. This woman was powerful, very powerful to be able to rescue them atop a tower covered in darkspawn. She was also dark, Florien could feel it in the air, as his mana brushed up against hers. He wanted to shudder, to recoil from her and stand behind Alistair. Alistair would have the best chance at her with his templar training but…

"You, you're alive." An almost hysterical laugh came from Alistair. "I thought you were dead for sure." The elder man shifted awkwardly, his gaze resting on Florien as if he couldn't quite believe the mage was still alive. Still breathing and standing there before him looking hearty and hale, even if the last pieces of flesh knitted together under Florien's robes, a subtle healing spell of his own finishing the elder witch's work.

"I'm not, thanks to Morrigan's mother." His voice was soft and he took a hesitant step forward. The urge to cry again came back, not for Florien's losses. No, for Alistair's. Florien had dealt with loss before, had dealt with grief and pain twelve years ago. He could remember the feeling of having his world turned upside down, that in fact the world had actually just fallen away into some terrible nightmare that he wanted to wake up. Alistair…Alistair looked fresh to it, looked so lost and alone, those eyes so pained. "If it weren't for Morrigan's mother we'd be dead atop that tower."

Was this how Jowan felt when he had looked at Florien when he first came to the Tower?

Reaching out he grasped Alistair's arm, pulling him close and letting it slide up and around, bringing his other arm up as well to wrap around the tall human's shoulders. Florien held Alistair to him, nose in his neck and breathing in the scent of his friend. He was crushed almost immediately to Alistair's chest, his embrace returned tenfold. It hurt, but he didn't complain, knowing that at this moment he was all Alistair had left.

"I'm not dead Alistair. You aren't alone; I'll never let you be alone." Florien's voice was soft in Alistair's ear, his breath tickling the skin as his friend held him closer. Fingers caressed the back of his neck, soothing and gentle. It was a motion reminiscent of Jowan, who had always run his fingers through Florien's hair or across the pale skin of his face or neck in soothing caresses. How ironic that instead of Florien receiving those familiar touches he was giving them out.

He broke their embrace only when he was sure Alistair was steady enough on his feet to stand on his own. Still he did not let the other go completely, turning to face the elder witch his hand reached out and took Alistair's. It was his warning squeeze that got Alistair to calm down after they were told who exactly recued them.

Flemeth, _The _Witch of the Wilds. Not just a witch of the wilds, but _The Witch of the Wilds. _His unease finally given a name, a reason, Florien felt his politeness increase tenfold. Flemeth had given them their lives, and for whatever reason, whatever grand plan she had, she had wanted them alive. Still he did not keep his faith in the fact that since she rescued them she'd continue wanting them to stay alive. Wariness would be prudent, as well as keeping her unoffended.

"We will fight the Blight. We will gather the armies needed." Florien felt himself saying with a conviction that seemed to surprise and please both Alistair and Flemeth. "What of the treaties? They're back at camp." Alistair interjected, a worried frown marring his handsome features and Florien bit his bottom lip and looked at Flemeth guiltily.

"You don't need to worry about them. I'll tell you about it later." Florien said quietly wondering what reaction Alistair would have to the news that Florien had taken the documents before the battle. That this had reminded him so much a terrible dream he'd had as a child, that he had felt uneasy, that he could tell something was wrong. The truth of it, the very center of what had happened and his own actions before the battle frightened Florien, shocking him. He had told Duncan, he had said…and look at what had happened. The Maker truly had taken his gaze from them; they had been forsaken at the Battle of Ostagar. Even so, Florien was Grey now, he would stand between mankind and the dark poison of the Blight. He would build an army, he would rally them against the darkspawn and do his duty. If anything else Florien had his duty and his unspoken word to Duncan to take care of Alistair.

How odd that he, almost twenty, an elf and a mage, lowest of the low reviled and hated, would have to be the watcher and strength for Alistair, who if he had to guess, was in his late twenties perhaps even early thirties. The irony did not escape him that if the world worked as it was supposed to Alistair would be the strength and watcher, not Florien…but the world was flawed wasn't it? The cards were dealt now and the house was winning, but Florien would win the game. Even if he had to cheat, lie, and swindle nothing was more important than stopping the Blight.

Then when the Archdemon lay dead Florien would turn his gaze on Loghain. Loghain would die.

Priorities, duty first, revenge later, and perhaps sometime in between he'd be able to take a nap. The mental image made him chuckle inwardly, how hilarious. Florien Surana, Hero of Fereldan, Saver of Mankind, Defeator of Impossible Odds, and whatever other highly impossible names floated through his head as to what he would be called if he managed this. He knew he'd, in all likelihood, be called 'elf mage thing who helped the Hero of Fereldan' since he was only taking leadership temporarily to help Alistair get back on his feet. He was the Senior Warden afterall.

Still he was glad he was the one in charge since Alistair would not have agreed so readily on his own on bringing a personality challenged apostate with them. Not that Morrigan was terrible, or even that she lacked personality, she simply acted as one would if they'd never had to deal with other people on a regular basis. Morrigan had not learned like Florien and Alistair had through their years of communal living, Florien in the Tower and Alistair at the Chantry, of compromise and general respectability. Florien was willing to cut her slack, so long as she didn't set Alistair on fire like she kept threatening to.

Besides their banter kept Alistair from focusing on his grief and Florien couldn't tell if it was intentional or if Morrigan truly did just like prodding Alistair verbally. It was only after they had set up camp for the evening did Florien let himself wander over to Alistair once more. He looked…different with the armor off. Smaller, less formidable, but still Alistair. Coming behind the former templar in training Florien wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on Alistair's head. The human leaned back into the embrace, staring at the fire. They were silent a long moment, enough to get familiar with the sounds of the other's breathing and Alistair liked to fancy he could hear the steady thrum of Florien's heartbeat.

"Why don't we have to worry about retrieving the treaties?" It was Alistair who broke the silence, juvenile joviality gone. His voice was quiet and hoarse still, his eyes grave. A sigh escaped Florien, stirring about some of the hair on Alistair's head. "I have them." "Oh you...What!" Alistair's exclamation had Morrigan's eyes on them from her fire several yards away. Alistair broke out of Florien's embrace, turning so he sat facing the elf. Alistair would not acknowledge that the firelight gave Florien an alluring glow, or that his arms had been comforting and warm. Florien was a man underneath the carefully applied makeup and feminine mage robes. "How do you have the treaties Florien?" Anger was a bitter undercurrent to the accusatory tone he took.

Florien to his credit stood his ground; his earlier display of uncertainty in front of Flemeth was gone. He pressed his lips into a thin line. "I took them from the camp right before we went to the Tower of Ishal. Didn't you wonder why I had both of us bring our packs that had supplies in them?" Florien's arms came up and crossed over his chest.

"Well at the time, yes, you did a lot of strange things that night but it was all overshadowed by…" Alistair trailed off. "Loghain's betrayal." Florien finished and the sound of the mage's voice brought Alistair back. "So why did you do that? Wait, did you _know? _Did Loghain tell you?" Florien felt his anger rise, flaring up like a forest fire before he quelched it, his gaze turning flat and cold. "What I tell you goes no farther than you. I will not tell Morrigan or anyone else of this." The bitter scabbed wound of Jowan's betrayal was picked open, throbbing and bleeding anew. He took a fortifying breath. "Your word Alistair, I want it." Alistair's face contorted slightly as he tried to not take offense at Florien's words before turning sour and nodding. "You have my word Florien, that I will not tell anyone what you tell me." _And if you betrayed us I won't tell anyone because I will kill you myself. _Was left unspoken and Florien ignored it. Alistair had right to be wary after what had happened, but still he deserved to know.

"I have dreams that aren't dreams. Why do you think I was the only recruit who didn't freeze when I first saw the Darkspawn? I had already seen them before in my dreams, and those dreams showed me that they could die like anything else if you set it on fire…. But that is not exactly what you wanted to know. I had dreamed of pain and betrayal, and death long ago when I was still travelling with my Mamae. I was a child then and all I knew was that whatever was going to happen it would be devastating and I would barely come out alive and wherever I was would be lost." Florien closed his eyes, his voice growing faint. "When I was at Ostagar I felt the foulness in the air. All the mages could, we sensed that…something wasn't right. When I was at the meeting I felt Death there, reaching for me but then Cailan he…gave us the assignment and I felt it move away from me and it was then I knew that Ostagar would become blood soaked and that the Veil would be torn there because of so many violent deaths. I couldn't tell Duncan in full because there wasn't time and I didn't have the words for it but I warned him. He told me to carry on my duty no matter the cost and I told him goodbye. I then went to our tent and got our packs and everything I thought we couldn't live without if we could never come back. I had hoped that I was wrong, that I'd get punished by Duncan for taking the treaties from their hiding place but I wasn't."

Alistair frowned, his hand coming up to touch Florien's cheek, the tender touch shocking him into realizing he was crying. He was crying for the men lost, for the pain of the loved ones left behind, for Alistair. He was crying for Alistair. The hand wiped at his tears for a few moments then brought his head down, their foreheads touching as Alistair breathed in deeply. They stayed like that for a long moment, comforting each other.

"It's a good thing you're a Warden now Flor. The Chantry would have your hide if they found out." Alistair said finally. He moved back staring at the elf. "You're not evil, not like the Chantry says, you can't help what you dream."

"Whether or not I can control it doesn't mean anything to the Templars." Florien said softly. "I don't know if I was the only one in the Tower who did dream but I was the only one who Jowan had heard of and Jowan heard everything." That name felt painful on his lips to say, he could taste bitterness and blood on his tongue, and longing in his heart. Painful longing. Excruciating longing. He forced his voice to be light.

"Tomorrow we head to Lothering and after we resupply we can go to Redcliffe. Arl Eamon seems to be the best bet for sanctuary and careful planning, then the Circle Tower." He tried to steer the topic from such grave matters and Alistair followed suit, knowing that now would not be the best time to continue their discussion on Florien's abilities. The conversation grew light and finally the fire began to die down when they decided that it was best if they rested.

"Alistair?" Florien asked, his voice a near whisper as he sat up in his bedroll. "Mmmm?" Alistair's eyes were closed still but he wasn't asleep, not yet. "May I share with you?" An eye cracked open and stared at the younger elf. He looked different with his hair down, that deep red color that contrasted with the pale skin, that young face with wide vulnerable eyes. Feeling a strange and strong urge to protect that small young creature (who could admittedly freeze him, set him on fire, then make him explode if Florien so desired) he lifted the blanket on his bedroll in invitation. He was surprised at how quickly Florien moved into his arms, fitting himself snugly against Alistair and cuddling close. He wrapped an arm around the slender waist and tucked Florien's head beneath his chin, marveling at how nice it was to have something trust him that much and need him, his warmth and protection. Alistair was also surprised at how much it soothed him, that knowing Florien was over on the other side of the fire wasn't as comforting as having Florien in his arms and unable to leave or escape or die without Alistair being alerted. Florien would be safe here, and Florien being safe meant that Florien would stay alive, which meant Florien would be there with Alistair and Alistair wouldn't be alone.

He wouldn't be alone, and with that thought lingering in his head Alistair drifted off to sleep to the steady breathing of Florien in his ears.


	5. Confessions In The Dark

Lothering, it was a place filled with despair and desperation. Bandits choked off escape routes, beasts slunk on the outskirts of the village preying on the unwary or weak. Darkspawn were approaching at a rapid pace, and Florien wondered why everyone didn't just run. They needed to flee northward, no possession was so great that they needed to stay and protect it, no land so precious at this moment that would rationally weigh out to staying when the horde arrived. Nothing was so dear as the lives of the hopeless people.

Was Lothering named such because everyone was loathing their lives?

Still it wasn't as if everything was hellish, they'd gained three new members to their very very odd party. There was Bunbun, the mabari that he had saved at Ostagar, a rather large and drooling beast that loved nothing more than to knock Florien over and slobber all over him or decide that it must claim all of Fereldan as its territory. Then there was Leiliana, lay sister of the Chantry, extremely sweet and Orlesian as well and there was something ever so familiar about her but he couldn't yet place where he could have met the older woman, if he had met her before at all. Then there was Sten. Sten was a Qunari and he was as simple and complex as that all at once. He was honorable in his own way, seeking atonement for the massacre of a family whose lives he had taken unjustly. Florien had not yet wheedle the information as to why Sten had killed those people, but he was getting better at figuring out what made Sten tick. Florien was actually getting better at figuring out what made everyone in this ragtag group of misfits tick.

Yet his mind wasn't on the doomed civilians or his newest companions. His gaze was far off, unseeing as he sat by the campfire, Alistair behind him his presence warm and comforting as the elder warden chatted with Leiliana. Florien fought back a shiver as he leaned back into Alistair, his heart quietly breaking, his mind in turmoil and his nerves frayed beyond repair. Yet outwardly he seemed so calm, so composed, it wasn't until Alistair's hand accidentally brushed against Florien's shoulder that he was brought back from his memories with a violent flinch.

"Florien?"

Concerned compassion made Alistair's eyes the most comforting thing Florien had seen all day. Blinking and then turning his gaze back to the fire he heard Alistair dismiss Leiliana politely before the elder Warden tugged on a lock of Florien's hair. Making the mage turn back to him, to face him, Alistair wondered what had unsettled Florien so deeply. They hadn't been apart much, save for when Florien first went into the Chantry with no one except Bunbun and came back over an hour later, pale and distant. Florien had gone through all the motions as leader, weighing options, mediating arguments, and finding several ways they could get coin yet there was something gone, hidden away that Alistair didn't like.

"Ser Bryant, I know him." Florien's voice was thick with an Orlesian accent. Alistair wondered why he'd never picked up on it before, it was so obvious now that lilt to his words the musical quality in which he spoke. Was Florien Orlesian? If he was then why on earth was he in Fereldan of all places? Trying to get the thoughts from his head he turned his attention back to Florien. "He saved me, when I was a child. He is the Templar who brought me to the Tower under the Knight Commander of Denerim's orders. Ser Bryant had been picked because he was one of the kindest Templars and he would do nothing to further harm me."

"Wait further harm you? What happened Florien, did you accidentally use some magic and someone beat you?" It was an all too common tale, a mage child showed signs of magic and fearful villagers would beat the child for being so 'sinful'. The pause though, the hesitance in which Florien had made Alistair shift uncomfortably. "It was intentional, my use of magic. Some men from a gang, they had gone after my Mamae, and managed to stab her with a dagger. I set them on fire, killing them. Mamae got the dagger out of her and she tried to get me so we could run before the templars came for me. It was her inattention to her surroundings that got her killed, she did not kill all the remaining men, some were hidden in shadows. They shot her with an arrow and as she turned to throw a dagger a man came and beheaded her. The other men protested this, for Mamae was very pretty and I think they wanted to have fun with her, they were angry. They turned their anger upon me." Florien took Alistair's hand moving it so it could slide against the back of his neck. "These scars, on my back, they were made from a whip. The ones higher up are much lighter now, but the middle of my back is not very pretty to look at still."

Alistair exhaled sharply fingers going over the scars he had noticed but never questioned, never wondered how the mage had gotten them. "Maker Florien how did you escape? Did the Templars come and get you?"

"Non, I got out myself. Mamae taught me things, things of her profession. I can pick locks, I used those skills to get out. Picking locks, sneaking out. It was very hard but the men were assured that I was…incapacitated enough to where they need not watch me. I went to the Chantry and I went to the Knight Commander asking for refuge in the Tower. I believe I am one of a handful of mages who asked to be taken to the To-ommphh." The breath in Florien's lungs escaped him when Alistair held him bone crushingly tight. Florien wanted to protest, to tell Alistair he was hurting him, but he kept his mouth shut because it was warm and secure. The tension eased out of him and he was no longer remembering the sting of a whip on his back or the warmth of his Mother's blood splattered across his face. Alistair held Florien to him for a long moment, reassuring himself that Florien was in fact here. He could have lost Florien before they had ever met, if Florien hadn't been so resourceful, if Florien hadn't been so determined only the Maker knew what would have happened to the elf that had now become the center of his world.

That thought should have startled him. A man, no matter how pretty, was still a man and Alistair didn't like men. Not like that, not at all. He liked soft curves and pretty smells, lovely laughter, and well that nice warm place where you're supposed to…well you know. Alistair couldn't even think about it really, his upbringing smacking him upside the head because it was simply not gentlemanly to imagine doing _that. _Still Alistair couldn't, wouldn't, imagine a world without Florien. How could he even face waking up in the morning if he didn't know that the elf was going to be right there, in his arms, sleeping as peacefully as the Darkspawn dreams that slipped through would allow. How would they survive if Florien didn't distract Alistair with some wild tale or the phrase 'Oh! Look! A/n/the _!' and pointing, managing to get Alistair to look every time and while doing so slipping some herbs or meat or whatever was necessary into the stew to make it palatable. Alistair knew it was a ploy the third time Florien did it, but he continued to do it anyway. They were odd like that. They were bizarre and freakish and the very last of their order in a country during a Blight. Florien was a maker given saint, he put up with all of them, delegating chores, keeping them from killing one another. He was kind, and sweet, and smart. Maker's breath if Florien had been a woman, truly been a woman Alistair would have fallen for him. Florien wasn't a woman, and while he fell into a grey space, one where he'd protect Florien from everything he could, that he'd compare every woman he met now to Florien, he couldn't love Florien like that. He couldn't. He couldn't…

"I don't want Ser Bryant to die." Florien murmured. "I don't want to know I couldn't save him as well, not when he was so kind to me. He stayed at the Tower for an extra two weeks, pretending to be ill so he could make sure I settled in and that the other Templars knew of my situation. So that they wouldn't do anything to set me off. As an elf and a mage I cannot forget that kindness." Florien's voice didn't tremble, didn't waver despite the sadness in his tone and the acceptance that he could not save everyone he wished to.

Alistair felt something inside him break at that. Florien wasn't entirely used to receiving kindness. It was so important to him that he remembered an act of kindness from over a decade ago. He had wanted to return it, do anything, to protect the man who'd helped him. Yet Florien knew that it wasn't the right decision. He couldn't stay there and fight, defending a doomed village of people simply because one person was there that he had wanted to save. Florien was picking his battles, and Alistair didn't know if he could have done that. No, he knew at that moment he wouldn't have. He needed Florien in charge; he needed the younger man to guide him and all the others. Florien needed to be their leader because he was the best thing they had.

Suddenly Alistair didn't want to go to Redcliffe. If they went to Redcliffe Florien would find out about his issue, and then he'd be like everyone else. He'd act different, try and put him in charge and Alistair didn't want that. He couldn't do that because he was still too broken inside to be much help with anything except stupid jokes and killing things. Thinking, Alistair just didn't do the thinking thing.

"Let's go to the Circle. They're closer and we need supplies." He blurted out and Florien's puzzled face made him smile. Mulling it over Florien nodded, out of all the groups they had treaties for Florien was positive he'd be able to talk the mages into honoring it. It would be the easiest out of all of the assignments mainly because Florien knew whom he'd have to talk to. He also knew how exactly to convince Irving, he hadn't been Irving's star pupil simply because he'd be very good at magic. He was cunning and while not manipulative, knew how to get what he wanted from others. "Okay, but we have to keep Morrigan from going in, between her and the Templars we might get a battle no one's going to want to see. Bunbun would have no place to use the facilaties so that leaves us with Sten and Leiliana. Leiliana should charm everyone while Sten's disapproving presence shall certainly keep others from trying to do anything foolhearty." Settled on who to bring Florien leaned back, with their course changed the party of misfits settled down for the night readying themselves for tomorrows travels.

"Greagoir! What is happening?"

Florien had felt the wrongness of the tower as soon as he had seen it rising in the distance. His heart fluttered wildly, panic almost gripping him when he saw the pandemonium inside. The Templars were more than uneasy, they were themselves panicked. A panicked templar was never a good Templar in any mage's book.

"Abominations have taken over the Tower, we have called for the Right of Annulment."

Florien felt his world darken for a moment as he swayed, the blood draining from his face. "Annulment?" His voice was a whisper, breathy and panicked. "No, no I will not allow it. There must be mages left alive! What of the other Templars where are they? Where is Irving? Where is _Cullen?_" The inflection he used on that second name had Alistair curling his fists. No one should get such an inflection on their name, not sound so desperate and pained and hopeful all at once. Not when it was Florien speaking that name.

"I do not know. All that I do know is that they have taken it over and no one could possibly have survived." Florien reared back at that. "Mages are not defenseless! We will go. We will find survivors and clean out the Tower of this, infestation." Florien spat out the last word, filled with righteous fury and disgust. Abominations taking over the Tower? Disgusting. Unacceptable. Florien would not allow it to continue.

"Florien, why have you returned? It was said all Grey Wardens died at Ostagar." The Knight Commander's voice was suddenly softer and Florien felt his own anger retreating for a moment.

"Loghain lied Knight Commander." Teeth flashed, his eyes sparked, and all the Templars suddenly tensed knowing that this mage was angry. "He left us to die he left King Cailan to die, he is ignoring the Blight. I have survived and so has Alistair. We are gathering our allies, it is a duty that cannot be forsworn. We need mages Greagoir, and if there is even one left alive an untainted by evil then we will rescue them and have them honor their agreement."

"If you go through those doors Florien, I will not reopen them unless I hear the First Enchanter himself speak." Florien suddenly felt pain for this man, this man who had been like a father to him. Irving was gone, locked inside that hell and Greagoir had left him there. Florien could not decide if he would have done the same.

"Then my course is set. Alistair, Sten, Leiliana we're going in." His voice was commanding, compelling in a way that had all three of his companions moving with him. He didn't look back as he walked through the doors. Was this how the Maker felt when his Golden City was turned Black? Did he feel as defiled as Florien did seeing wave after wave of horror, death, decay, and hoplessness? This had been his home and now it was a nightmare.

Sten had been left behind to guard the children and other mages while Florien had replaced him with Wynne. Neither mage could keep the horror from their faces as they went room after room through this terrible hell. Then they were no longer in the room and were taken into the Fade.

This was worse than his Harrowing. He fought through spirits, mastered his form, used his will in ways that he hadn't before because this time everything depended on him. He didn't even have faithful Alistair by his side, shielding him from blows and driving enemies back when he low on mana. Bloody, broken, and exhausted he made his way through the traps and nightmares. He conquered them, fought the demons so fiercely that they knew just before they perished they shouldn't have fucking touched his companions or his home because Florien might be pretty and small and generally sweet but here put under pressure he was two steps away from just lunging at things and ripping their throats out with his teeth like Bunbun. Florien wanted his dog! Florien wanted Alistair! He wanted Leiliana! He wanted Wynne! He wanted Sten! Hell he even wanted Morrigan. Above it all though, through the fog and the haze of fury and frustration, he was thankful that Jowan wasn't here. Jowan had escaped and was free and he hadn't thrown his lot in with the maleficars here destroying the Tower.

Jowan had been many things, but malicious wasn't one of them. Jowan would have been just as sickened about what had happened to the Tower, despite the blood magic this sort of thing would have gone against Jowan's very nature. It comforted him knowing that. It also made him wonder, what of Blood Magic? It was forbidden, it was dangerous, but as he had seen so was just about every other kind of magic out there. Even creation, one could kill with creation if you knew the right spells. It was more of the mage himself than the magic he was drawn to. It had been these thoughts that had stayed his hand when the maleficar had begged for her life. Despite the terrible deeds she had done, despite all the foulness she had brought upon the Tower he had spared her. He had made her run and prayed that she would do as she had said and devote her life to the Chantry. No one had been happy with his descision but he didn't care.

"Everyone deserves second chances." Was all he had said with enough finality in his tone to keep the others from arguing with him.

Then when he had gotten everyone out of the Fade, had woken them from their Nightmares, and defeated the Sloth demon. Florien had gotten the Litany from Niall, he knelt over the body of the man who had been so much better suited for a life of peace and quiet. Niall's mother would be proud that he had done such a brave thing, even if she would mourn the lost life of her son due to the evils of magic. Fingers danced over the pale skin of Niall, closing his eyes and whispering that he would be burned as was his right. He was a hero, he should be buried as one.

Then it was Florien's breaking point.

"CULLEN!" Florien didn't care how loud he had screamed that name, or if abominations could hear him and come running. He launched himself at the barrier, hands pounding on it, fingernails scrabbling against it as he clawed at the magic. "Cullen! Cullen! Maker, get him out! Wynne get him out!" He didn't care if his companions commented that Cullen was tortured, that he had been deprived of food and water and had been surrounded by corpses, demons, and death for days. Florien had to get him out. "Someone get him out of there."

Then Cullen lifted his head from his prayers, eyes wild and desperate and he said things. Florien backed away in horror, a hand covering his mouth and tears freely fell from his eyes. What had they done to Cullen? Florien didn't see his companions' faces. He didn't see the compassion in Leiliana's eyes, or the worry in Wynne's. He didn't notice the fury of Alistair, who stood behind him rigid and threatening, his eyes hard and cold. He simply stared at Cullen.

"I-it is me." Florien's voice was choked and he once again went to the barrier, hand open as he splayed it across, wanting nothing more than to touch Cullen. He wanted to soothe him and he felt such bitter pain for being the root of his templar's torments. "Cullen it is me. Maker forgive me for what I've done to you. Maker forgive me, because I loved you too. I am a man and I wanted you like a woman would."

Cullen's madness cleared for a moment. His eyes cleared.

"Florien?" he breathed as if he couldn't believe that Florien was really there and not some Desire demon's illusion. Florien wanted to be ill, he wanted to claw the cage open with his bare hands, but he knew it was useless. "It's really you." Cullen's features twisted again with rage. "Kill Uldred! Kill them all! Blood mages with their wicked fingers inside your head. I'm the last, the others broke one by one." Cullen's voice broke and he looked up the madness back. Florien felt himself tremble, biting his lip to muffle the sounds of his crying. Cullen didn't seem to notice or even care. "I will kill Uldred and his followers but if there is even one mage up there who hasn't given in…who hasn't given up then I will save them. It is my duty."

"You have doomed us all." Cullen spat back at him and Florien felt his heart shatter briefly. "I will set you free, I promise. I won't let them hurt you anymore." Then Florien turned away, wiping at his eyes and trying to rebuild his composure. He buried his pain, he horror at seeing those who he had grown up with massacred so violently or turned into monsters. He could become that one day if he wasn't careful. He wouldn't though, Florien knew that if he could survive the Joining, if he could force death back thirty years then no demon would take him. He took his weaknesses and buried them, letting anger and wrath take their places.

How dare Uldred do this to the Circle? How dare Uldred betray those who trusted him?

Uldred was going to die.

Florien went up into the Harrowing chamber, the Veil gone wherever he passed, his fury ripping it apart. He wove spell after destructive spell. The other mages would liken Florien to some avenging elven god as he and his fellows beat back the abominations and killed Uldred. When it was over, when silence reigned in the Harrowing Chamber Irving slowly and painfully made his way to Florien.

"You have made your way back to us child." Gasping for breath and bloody Florien stared at Irving with glassy eyes. "Greagoir won't open the doors unless he hears you." Raspy and hoarse Florien's voice was a faint echo of what it normally was. Irving nodded resigned. "Then let us get down these stairs, curse whoever thought to put us in a Tower." Florien tried to chuckle but only a stuttering breath came out. Alistair came beside Florien and without a word picked him up. Alistair marveled at how light Florien was, really his friend should put on weight it shouldn't be this easy to carry anyone. "Could you help me down the stairs my dear?" Irving asked Leiliana, trying not to smile at the dark look Alistair was giving anyone who came too close to the weakened mage. "Of course Senior Enchanter." Leiliana smiled sweetly and Irving chuckled. Leave it to Florien to find another Orlesian to accompany him on such an odd quest as would lead him into a Tower filled with demons and abominations.

When they reached the Tower Entrance Alistair held an unconscious Florien closer to him. "The Apprentice quarters are relatively clean, we will be sleeping there and then we will talk in the morning." His voice broached no room for argument and the dark aura around him, so threatening and possessive, had the Templars shifting away. "Of course child, take him to bed he deserves it. All of you rest while we take stock of survivors, no one will disturb you." The Senior Enchanter gave a meaningful look to Greagoir before the Knight Commander reluctantly nodded his head. Alistair took the small elf into the apprentice quarters, not caring that Leiliana and Sten were following him.

"Will he be alright?" Leiliana asked Alistair as she began shedding her armor, rummaging around through some of the trunks and finding a robe to her liking. Alistair stripped Florien of his bloody and torn robes, using extra blankets around them to make some bandages that he first soaked in poultices. Wrapping Florien in bandages and gently as he could, ignoring the way that he had noticed new scars marring the pale skin, noticing now with newer clarity the older scars on Florien's back. "He will be, he's just tired from all the fighting. He didn't get a rest in the Fade like we did, he fought his way to us and when he got there he fought for us." He rested his hand on Florien's forehead, gently brushing the hair from his face. "He didn't abandon us to our nightmares even when it would've been easier to let us stay."

"It is not in his nature to do so. The Warden will not abandon his brothers even if it was the wisest course of action." Sten's rumbling voice came from behind Alistair. "No, I don't think he ever would." Alistair replied as he took off his bloody armor and laid it next to the bed he had placed Florien on. He took off his shirt, realizing that he had no wounds due to Wynne's healing magic. He wondered why she hadn't healed Florien but decided that those thoughts were best left alone. He needed to rest. Climbing into the bed with Florien he securely wrapped his arms around the small elf. Alistair's heart stopped beating for a few seconds when he realized that their skin was touching. So much skin, Maker for a man Florien had such soft skin. Feeling his face flush at the thought he held Florien closer, feeling no small amount of pleasure when Florien borrowed closer to him with a soft sigh.

_Mi hermosa rosa sangrienta. Usted pertenece a mí y sólo a mí mi soñador hermoso. Olvídese de los inocentes. Chantry niños no pueden apreciar su belleza. Cuando yo me muera voy a tener para siempre. Yo vengo pronto, así que me esperan mi hermosa._


	6. Building Trust Between Roses and Crows

Andraste's flaming knickerweasels Florien felt his heart was going to burst from his chest. He was positive Alistair could hear it from the frown he was sending him. Well it was that or the fact that Florien had just let an Antivan Crow join their party. Leiliana looked pleased, Alistair looked angry, and Sten looked…like Sten always did. Did Alistair even know much about Antivan Crows? Florien worried his bottom lip and hoped that Alistair only knew Zevran was an assassin one that had tried to kill them not an assassin who had undergone intensive and brutal training to become the best of the very best.

Florien's breath hitched in his throat, that purr added to Zevran's voice the way his fingers lingered on Florien's skin when Florien helped him rise. He was going to explode, literally explode because Florien wasn't used to being looked at like that. He seriously doubted anyone could be used to being looked at like that. Feeling his cheeks flame he tried to cover them. Curse his pale skin, he could tell Zevran knew exactly what his was doing with those dark dark eyes. Not to say that the coloration was dark, no those were a warm honey brown, but what lurked inside them was.

"Let's go back to camp." Florien said softly, feeling intensely aware of Zevran at his back watching him, analyzing his every movement. Ducking his head, he kept eye contact with the damn road. The road wasn't giving him the evil eye, nor was it undressing him, or smirking at him. The road and Florien were at a perfect understanding. He wasn't about to talk about the true reason why he had let Zevran live.

Some part of Florien wanted to cry, because he had always known that the other elf he had seen in his dreams had been real. He had always been able to discern reality from the Fade, a vision from a simple dream. Zevran was real, and it was one thing to have witnessed the tragedies and atrocities of his life when Zevran was far away. Zevran was here, Zevran had come seeking death and Florien denied it to him. It would have been wiser to let Zevran die, but Florien couldn't. Not when he could remember the assassin's anguished cries in his head the muffled sobs of 'Rinna'. Biting his tongue he felt his thoughts race, did Zevran know? No he didn't, Zevran was no mage, and he had no real awareness of the Fade or spirits. Just as he was sure Alistair didn't know he had witnessed the shattering of his mother's pendant right before he was sent to the Chantry, or the long silent hours left alone to contemplate the Maker.

It was long past bedtime when Florien eased himself from Alistair's side, a touch of magic to the elder Warden's forehead ensured he would continue to rest. He slipped his robe on and left the tent, his hair falling down his back in gentle rolling waves, with a few strands mussed from his attempt at sleep. He made it no farther than the outer ring of the firelight before a hand clamped over his mouth and another was banded across his waist. Hot breath ghosted over his ear and made Florien shiver in anticipation.

"Warden it would be foolish, even for one so powerful, to go off into the woods alone. Something so beautiful would attract predators and it would not help my position here if you were…eaten unwillingly." A dark chuckle vibrated the chest behind him and Florien felt his tension ease, mending the Veil as quickly as he had torn it. The warm hand left his mouth, though Zevran did not step back. "Unless, of course, you wish to be ravaged by a predator. Then I shall be more than happy to oblige."

"I did not come out here to be eaten." Florien protested, though to his ears it sounded almost weak, almost breathy. His skin was flushed and despite the chill to the air he was warm. "Truly? You could have had me fooled." Fingers rough and sensual trailed down Florien's jaw to his neck. The smaller elf couldn't help but swallow reflexively, was it fear or anticipation pooling in his gut? "Let me give you a sample of how a gourmet tastes and samples such a fine meal. It is the least I can do for such a beautiful creature so filled with the Maker's mercy."

The warmth pooling in Florien's gut cooled and hardened, something bitter came into his mouth and he tensed. Florien's fingers touched Zevran's and before the assassin could realize his mistake lightening danced across his skin, shocking him and forcing him away. Getting out of the grip Zevran had had on him, Florien turned and faced the assassin.

"I do not need to be repaid in such a manner, Zevran." Florien's voice shook and he couldn't help the anger that clouded his face. "You are worth far more than an offer to warm my bed. I do not want you selling yourself short, falling into a role that you feel comfortable with because you were trained to be there. You. Are. An. Assassin." Florien poked Zevran's chest with each word to drive the meaning in. "You may flirt if you wish, you may throw as many innuendos out there as you please, you may even tell Wynne she has a magical bosom for all I care, but you are not a whore and the skills I want from you, the ones I need from you are the fact you can kill and kill quickly. Warm someone's bed only if you truly desire it, not out of obligation or the thought that it is what is expected of you. If I think you're playing 'hide the knickerweasel' for any reason other than lust or love I will set your short hairs on fire and strap you into a chastity belt. Do you understand me?"

"I understand Warden." Zevran's light voice held something unidentifiable in it. "Though what if I meant what I offered, hmmm? What would you tell me then?" Zevran took a step closer to Florien, smiling as the younger elf held his ground golden eyes narrowed his earlier anger not yet spent. Zevran had to marvel at the coloration of his new master, that hair the color of freshly spilled blood, those golden eyes the hue of a lovely sunset over the marvelous Antiva City(gold coin was far too cold for the warmth and fire that danced in those expressive eyes), skin pale like cream, and lips those very sinful lips the same color as that marvelous hair. His Grey Warden was beautiful, if he was a woman he would have been a beautiful but very deadly sex goddess, filled with fire and blood and magic. Now the man before him held all those things, with dignity and innocence that Zevran found intoxicating, but what did one call a man who dressed as a woman? Were they still a goddess or were they a god? Did the warden even need a gender, for beauty was beauty.

"I would tell you maybe." Zevran's nostrils flared, he was worth a 'maybe'? He was not used to getting such a noncommittal response, even hypothetically speaking. Certainly the Warden would tell him one way or another through body language, but the younger elf himself was uncertain as to his own willingness to sleep with him. "Then I will have to work harder, for you my beautiful Warden deserve only the finest pleasures." A smile crossed Florien's lips and those bright eyes glittered with amusement. "And I am to suppose that you are the one to show me such fine pleasures?"

"Of course, who else? Alistair? He wants you surely enough my Warden but he is no master." Florien looked at Zevran another moment before smiling, though this time it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Now why would he want me? I am a mage, a man, an elf, and an Orlesian. These qualities are things that are fine as friends but detestable traits in a lover." His tone was light as he ticked off with his fingers in the air his 'faults' and Zevran wanted to punch Alistair. He despised that look on anyone's face, but his Warden it certainly did not suit at all. He didn't betray his ire at the older Warden simply assessed how emotionally involved the young mage was with the other man.

It would take time, and careful maneuvering, especially with those ridiculous (but somehow thoughtful) restrictions on him. Still Zevran would manage it, and he would get to find out if those delicious rumors of Grey Warden stamina were truthful at all. "They are not so detestable when they are describing you Warden. You are intoxicating, exotic, dangerous, and passionate. Those things might turn a Fereldan off, with their land that smells of mud and dogs and their love of the bland, but an Antivan? Ah you would have your choice of suitors! Perhaps even the King of Antiva himself would vie to have you grace his 'presence'." Zevran watched as the bitterness left Florien's eyes, watching as they warmed again and a sweet chuckle escaped the young man. "Now you're overstating it."

"Am I? Surely you do not think so. Men should worship you, fall down to their knees and beg you for your time." A giggle interrupted him and Zevran felt his own lips curl up into a smile, this was much easier than he thought, distracting his pretty little Warden. "You should try that line on Morrigan, I bet you'd be able to charm her." Florien's voice was slightly muffled as he bit his bottom lip slightly to try and keep from laughing. "You are much prettier when you smile, I shall endeavor to make it happen more often." Zevran's hand reached up and patted Florien on the head, his fingers sliding through the hair and relishing the feel of something so soft and silken. He was going to have to ask how Florien kept so clean despite the dirtiness of travelling and fighting. Perhaps it was a mage thing, since all three mages in the party seemed to be particularly clean and refreshed compared to the other party members.

"Thank you Zev. I should go back to bed before Alistair wakes up." A dramatic sigh escaped Zevran. "You finally use my nickname just as you are going back to another man, how you wound me Warden." A hand went over his heart and Florien rolled his eyes slightly. "You'll live. Oh, and Zev, be ready to travel tomorrow. I'm taking you with me into Orzammar, you will have the best grasp on what exactly is going on. I have heard Antivan politics are similar to dwarven so I'll be relying on you." He stepped away then turning back to his shared tent with Alistair he slipped back inside, undressing and crawling back into the bedroll. Resting his head on Alistair's chest Florien closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. "I love you Alistair." He whispered into the dark waiting for tomorrow to come.

The morning had been uneventful, well uneventful for them. Florien watched amusedly as Morrigan and Wynne threatened both Alistair and Zevran (respectively) with shape changing and brain liquidation. He finished his breakfast of… well Florien wasn't exactly sure what it was he was eating, it was edible though and his stomach hadn't rebelled yet against it so it was fine. Well as fine an unidentifiable mush was, and Florien wasn't going to contemplate what the floaty bits were in it. Some things were never meant to be known, and the exact nature of his breakfast was one of those things.

It had been two weeks since the Tower Incident, and when Florien had mentioned that they should be going to Redcliffe next Alistair put his foot down. It would be easy so it should be last, let them have the toughest fights now so they could have a nice time relaxing at Redcliffe. Alistair's adamant refusal to go anywhere near Redcliffe currently drove their course to the Frostback Mountains, to the legendary city of Orzammar. Florien would find out sooner or later what had gotten Alistair so spooked about Redcliffe but he wasn't going to bring it up.

Especially not after Florien started having his own secrets to keep. The journals in his pack, taken from the Tower that he read each evening piecing together pieces of information slowly. He had to do it slowly, carefully, without Wynne or Alistair noticing. Maker above he was beyond foolish. He was looking through notes, forbidden damnable notes for answers. Answers as to why, answers as to how, answers for questions he couldn't pose to Jowan.

Zevran had interrupted him last night, though it hadn't stalled anything other than Florien's ability to…practice. His hands clenched inside his gloves, wondering how long it was going to be before Alistair noticed, Alistair was going to notice even a former Templar was a Templar in some respects, and when he did was Florien going to end up alone.

"Ahhh Warden you look positively frozen." Blinking Florien turned to Zevran who was smiling down at him. His lips parted ever so slightly and a shock of something flashed through him at the glint in Zevran's eyes, the dark thoughts being chased away by the sight of the Antivan. Feeling his cheeks flush he looked away feeling that if he stared at Zevran too long he was going to make a fool of himself. "Only just a little, I have not been outside much in the past twelve years. The Circle Tower was cool but never cold or hot, I am afraid I am simply not yet used to the discomforts of travelling. Or snow. I am not yet used to snow." The light layer of snow that always stayed on the mountains surrounded them, making Zevran want to shiver himself. Alas he had to put on a good show for his Warden. Smirking he sat down next to Florien and wrapped an arm around the thin shoulders of his compatriot, allowing his cloak to envelop them both. Zevran tilted his head so he could get a better look at his Warden.

He was suddenly struck, sitting next to him, by how small Florien was. Not that they had much of a height difference, perhaps half a head, but it was the slight build. Florien was soft and had just enough hint to curves, no hard sharp angles, to make him so easily pass off as a woman to the untrained eye. He wasn't even one of the specialized whores who had to work hard at his beauty, even without it there was something tantalizing about Florien. Exotic and sweet, Zevran wanted to get fruit, dark colored fruit with sweet juices and feed them to Florien, making the younger elf clean off his fingers with his tongue and force him to accept Zevran's tongue as he licked off all the juices from his face. Yes, that was what he would do when they got to Denerim. He would take Florien to the Pearl, rent a room and teach this little beauty seduction and pleasure.

"Then I shall keep you warm."

A soft giggle came from Florien as he smiled up at Zevran. "Thank you Zev, but it isn't practical. What if we run into another group of assassins? The delay of me getting away from you or you from me could wind up with both of us injured."

"Life is not always about practicality, but I will allow you to slip from my grasp this once." Sighing Zevran remained for a moment or two longer, making sure Florien was pleasantly warmed before moving away. He wanted Florien to realize to the fullest extent how close Zevran had been, to miss him warmth and presence even if only for a moment. It also didn't hurt when Florien looked at him with that hint of longing in his eyes when he left that Alistair happened to have such a wonderfully dark look on his face.

Zevran wanted Alistair to realize he couldn't keep Florien. Florien was no saint, no shining paragon of saintly goodness shining with the Maker's holy light. Florien might be exceptional, might be better than the rest of them, but Florien was still a man. Still flawed, could still be broken. It was that hint of darkness in his eyes, the way he wielded his magic so efficiently for death and didn't even seem remorseful for killing, the scars crisscrossing his back. All those imperfections, the broken little pieces that made Florien something so intriguing, drew Zevran to him and would eventually push Alistair away. They spoke of a hard life, something terrible had happened to his little Warden, and Zevran wanted to find it out, ferret out the secrets he could sense and learn everything he could of Florien. Learning Florien, understanding him would give him insight as to why Florien decided to spare him, the leader of the group of crows sent to kill him.

It would also help him understand his own reaction to him.

Shaking his head he gathered up his pack, ignoring the looks of mistrust his other companions sent him as he went with his Warden and the other two 'lucky' ones going into Orzammar. Funny, he didn't think dwarves let non-dwarves into Orzammar.

"They'll let us in Zev." Florien glanced over his shoulder to the elder elf a faint smile playing on his lips. Aha how marvelous, if they weren't allowed entrance then they were going to make an entrance. Life was never going to be dull with his Warden leading them. "If they know what is best for them, then they will let us in. Though I cannot help but want to see you break down the very gates to the city just so you can gain an audience with the king."

"It would be very entertaining ma bell." Leliana remarked smiling as she eyed her precious charge and leader. "Perhaps I should do your hair in something other than that bun, it is very practical but not very fashionable cher." "Aha! Here another who agrees life is not about practicality, come Leiliana we must soften our Warden for the Dwarves. Show off his beauty for all, make them envious that they have nothing comparable in the dark caves, perhaps our Warden shall cause a mass conversion for them. For gazing upon his beauty would make anyone a believer in the Maker."

Florien turned around with an embarrassed laugh glaring playfully at his two mischievous companions. "Mon Cherie get that look out of your eyes or else I shall hex it out I've promised you can play with my hair all you wish in camp and you." Florien pointed at Zevran. "I need to be respectable, practical, and above all else someone to listen to. Let me do that and I promise not to let Wynne magically castrate you next time you mention her bosom." "Ah you drive a hard bargin, the sight of your lovely face turning red or the ability to pleasure you when you finally give in to me. Such a tough choice…but I do like little Zev so I will acquiesce for the moment." Reaching out Florien smiled and patted Zevran on the top of the head. "Good boy, oh yes you are for following orders. You're going to get a treat oh yes you are." Ruffling the rogue's hair a little Florien was startled from his teasing of Zevran by a faintly animalistic growl. Snatching his hand away as if it were burned Florien turned around.

Alistair was pissed off. Not even a day, not a full day since they'd gotten Zevran and Florien was cozying up to him like maybe he was interested in the other elf. Why would Florien want him? He was smarmy, rude, a lecher, an assassin, and not to mention Antivan. Sure he was handsome, but he wasn't what Florien would want. No, not at all. Florien needed a man, one who wouldn't sneak about in shadows assassinating people left and right. He needed one who'd stand beside him and fight side by side, be his shield. He needed someone who could wrap around that small form and protect it, someone who understood the goodness and light of Florien. Not the fact that Florien was beautiful and looked so damnably delectable in those robes. Everyone had noticed it, or at least everyone that had a pulse noticed it, Alistair wasn't too sure that Sten even had a beating heart.

"Alistair?" Damnit now he'd made Florien go from being all happy and giggly and teasing to worried. He felt like a damn cur because Florien didn't smile enough as it was and he felt like a gunlock for stealing it away. "I'm fine, just got something in my shoe and I can't get it out." Florien smiled and relaxed. "Well go on and sit down we can wait for you to get it out, I don't want you to get hurt." Zevran and Leiliana smirked at him knowingly behind Florien's back as he sat down and removed his boot shaking it out and letting the imaginary rock fall out into the ground. Quietly groaning he realized it was going to be a long day.

"THIS IS RIDICULOUS!" Florien shouted in his room, his arms waving around. "It is politics Warden." Zevran laid on Florien's bed, watching in amusement as his leader paced around the room Bhelen had given to him. Tomorrow they were going into the Deep Roads and Florien had sent Alistair out and away, going back to camp with the others while Zevran and Leiliana stayed with Florien in Orzammar. Oghren was going to be their fourth member to journey into the Deep Roads to search for Branka, his wife and Paragon. He had almost sent Leiliana back before quietly deciding Alistair was more important, more integral to the battle, if for some reason he and the others got lost or died Alistair would be able to lead and pick up where Florien had left off.

"Raaaagghhhh!" Florien let out a final shout and flopped face down on his bed. Zevran chuckled and let his hand soothingly wander over Florien's tense back, stroking and kneading tight muscles into relaxation. He was a like a kitten, his Warden, never turning away a kind hand. In fact the little Warden seemed to crave such attention, which is perhaps why Zevran wasn't yet electrocuted for his presumptions.

"Mmmmm that feels good." Tilting his head to the side he kept his eyes closed as he felt Zevran shift his weight to straddle Florien's back. Devoid of armor it was rather nice having Zevran on top of him. "I shall continue then, on one condition." Zevran smirked as he slowly slid his hands up and down Florien's back, teasing him ever so slightly with the promise of a massage.

"What do you want?"

"To share your bed in the same manner as you share with Alistair. No surprises, no hidden motives, I simply know that if one has spent most of their life in close proximity to others while sleeping it is unsettling to sleep alone. I want you to be well rested for our excursion. You are watching my back, no? I want you to be able to set fire to whatever tries to jump on it rather than me."

Florien twisted as much as he could, finding Zevran allowing him to move so he was on his back now, rather than his stomach. He stared up at the Antivan, looking at him, looking through him to try and dissect his intentions, his soul. It was an unsettling feeling that perhaps Florien knew Zevran better than he let on. That he may bluff and fool and play games but Florien always could see his true intentions, his motives. It was odd how this young man seemed to know his sins and yet welcomed him into his party. Allowed him to be so close.

It made him angry. Shifting back Zevran pulled Florien up to a sitting position, his hand gripping the back of Florien's neck fingers tangled in his hair and a knife was drawn, pressed against the pale skin of Florien's throat. "I could kill you right now." How odd that he was so angry inside yet his voice was so light, almost teasing except for that hard steely edge making his words dangerous. "No one can hear you within this room if you screamed for help. I could slit your throat and run. You know this, you know how easily I can kill you."

"If that is what you want, then do it." Florien's voice was soft and soothing and Zevran's anger was incised. He should not be calm! He should be trembling and afraid. He shouldn't be practically giving Zevran permission to slit his throat. "I trust you Zevran, I trust your word."

Muttering a curse Zevran threw his knife away. "You are foolish and naïve." He said warningly letting Florien go, not able to be so close to him, to have him so easily within Zevran's reach. "Perhaps." Florien lay back on the bed closing his eyes. "Before you interrupted I was going to tell you yes, I would share my bed with you but it seems you'd rather be away from me than near me right now."

Zevran snorted. "I am just worried that you could be so easily killed by any you call friend. Such trust is not healthy in Antiva. It is something even a child should know. It would be unfortunate if the one who spared my life so benevolently is killed by the same benevolence."

"I won't be because I have you to watch my back." Florien opened one eye and stared at him. "So am I going to get my back rub or are you retracting your offer?"

"You will have to take off the top part of your robes, perhaps wear something you do not mind sleeping in." Reluctantly Zevran got off Florien, allowing him up to get undressed while Zevran went to his pack to get out a small vial of scented oil. Tonight would have no seduction, at least not the obvious kind. He was going to build upon trust, on friendship. Florien would know his hands first as a comrade then later as a lover, but for now it was to be a show of how comfortable Florien was with him.

As it turned out, after two weeks in the Deep Roads, Zevran knew how comfortable Florien was with him.

"Oh Maker. Oh Maker preserve me." Florien's soft utterances in between his dry heaves and the faint rocking of the small body made Zevran want to kill Branka for ever allowing such a thing to come into being, such a thing to be placed in their path to where Florien had to see it. Zevran sat on the thankfully dry ground of the tunnel next to the Broodmother's former lair. He reached out and pulled Florien into his lap, holding him tightly. He could feel each spasmodic shudder, the accelerated breathing, the absolute horror still running through his Warden's body and mind. They were covered in blood, vomit, and other unmentionable things but it didn't keep Zevran from holding his exhausted and frightened mage close.

"It wasn't an accident. Zevran it wasn't an accident." Florien's voice was somewhere between anguished, horrified, and furious. Zevran contented himself with undoing Florien's bun, combing his fingers through the mucked up strands, picking out darkspawn flesh and then carefully twisting it back up. He knew Florien didn't want him to speak, not yet, but he needed someone close someone willing to be there. Leiliana stood off to the side, watching the scene with a small amount of interest in her eyes though also alert for any other possible attack. Oghren stood near her, drinking heavily from the flask he carried with him constantly. It must be terrible for him to see what his wife was capable of in the name of the Anvil.

Finally the trembling stopped and Florien stared up at Zevran. "There you are coming back to me Florien." Zevran's voice was soft and it made Florien focus more on him. Had Zevran ever used his name before? Yes, one time before when Florien had been picked up by an Ogre he had heard the Antivan scream his name as he was being crushed. "Good, come now, it is probably not going to be the worst we will see in these damnable Roads, but it will be the only one to catch us by surprise." Florien nodded allowing Zevran to bring them both onto their feet. "Thank you." Florien whispered to him, standing up on his toes and placing a soft kiss on Zevran's cheek. All his aches and pains melted away as a warm familiar tingling sensation washed over him.

"You little minx, perhaps I should ask you to always kiss my wounds better."

"If I do that more often, you're not going to fight as well as you should." Florien stepped away his Warden mask slipping back into place and Zevran felt a sense of sadness seeing Florien retreat like that. He watched as Florien went over to Leiliana, checking her over and healing her wounds. He was no Wynne, but Florien was much better than nothing and more effective than a health poultice sometimes.

They trudged onwards, fighting through Darkspawn, ghosts, and puzzles til they reached the Anvil. Zevran wanted to shake Florien, true it was the morally correct choice but was it the best tactical choice? He had to disagree. They needed stronger warriors, and not much else was stronger than a Golem, well besides their party that is.

Yet he couldn't dissuade Florien from his choice. It exasperated and endeared Florien to him all at once. When Branka lay dead (which truly was all that she deserved, even Zevran could see that) and the crown forged they began their long arduous trek back through the Deep Roads.

"Zevran I need your assistance."

Zevran was going to figure out how Florien knew he was there even when he was trying to sneak around. Poking his head through the door to Florien's bathroom Zevran let his eyes linger on the pale skin exposed to him above the water.

"With what my dear Warden? Scrubbing your back? Washing your hair?"

"Yes" Florien's voice sounded so tired, so absolutely worn out that Zevran took a better look at him. Florien was in fact too pale. He mentally cursed himself. It was the blood magic, the dark secret revealed in the dark roads in the deep. Florien was practicing blood magic, and while it came in handy when Florien had no mana left and needed to still cast spells, it was incredibly taxing on the body. How long had Florien been pushing back his exhaustion?

Damn he was going to have to get better at reading his Warden.

"Ah I knew you couldn't resist me for so long." He teased, grabbing the supplies nearby and a stool as he sat by the edge of the tub and gently began washing Florien. This was different than before the Deep Roads, Florien had had some clothing then, and he hadn't been so very wet and naked and pliant. There was also something else, something that two weeks in the dark did to the bond between them.

His hands scrubbed Florien's back, washing away the dirt and grime that clung to his skin. He took his time, gazing at the scars he could see, both old and new. Washing Florien's hair was harder, dried bits of a multitude of creatures clung to the long strands. It took a long time but he did it.

"I am going to assume the water is cold by now, come Florien you need to go to bed." A soft protesting whine escaped the exhausted mage and Zevran chuckled. "I said up." Zevran hoisted Florien up and steadied him on his feet. Taking a towel he wrapped it around Florien's shoulders, then taking another he began to towel off his hair. Florien didn't protest only giving Zevran a mildly offended look to which the other replied with a smirk.

He was amazed at how willing he was to help Florien, even if the other hadn't been so deliciously naked. Perhaps it was because he knew that Florien would have done the same, with a good deal amount less of lurid staring. That if he hadn't done it that Florien would have haphazardly scrubbed himself clean and then gone to bed still dirty and Florien would have hated that.

Florien slipped on a pair of Zevran's pants, all of his clothes having gone off to the wash. He didn't even ask, he didn't even look disturbed he had gone through Zevran's pack to find clothes. It made Zevran smile a little, wondering what Alistair's reaction would be to knowing just how comfortable Florien was with him now. Oh he was going to have to see it as soon as they got back to camp.

"Come to bed mi rosa bella." Zevran coaxed, firmly taking Florien's arm and leading him to the bed. They had no pretenses right now, not after what they had done in the Deep Roads. Florien crawled into bed and when Zevran joined him, he curled up beside him, head resting on his chest as Zevran's hand came to play with the damp strands of Florien's hair. It was quiet; they needed no talking to fill up their comfortable silence. Zevran pressed a soft kiss to the top of Florien's head, comforting more than seductive.

His Warden deserved to be treated far better than this, deserved smile to have his day brightened up, to be given a reason to fight this horrible fight for something more than an lofty ideal. Tomorrow, he thought to himself, Florien was going to be introduced to Antivan love poetry. That he knew, would bring a smile to anyone's face.


	7. Don't Poke The Bear

"Alistair we have to kill a Dragon."

Alistair frowned and nodded. "Yes, I know the Archdemon."

"No, you don't get it. _We have to kill a __**Dragon.**_" Florien's hands moved as he tried to emphasize his point. He was distressed and Alistair couldn't figure out why. They had known for awhile that they were going to have to kill the Archdemon. What had gotten Florien so spooked about it?

"Yeeesss… I know." Alistair smirked, wondering if this was somehow a test and that Dragon was a codename for something.

"No you do not realize the sheer amount Dragon we are going to have to kill. It's big, and spews purply black **fire **and-and it _SWOOPS_! It looks like its favorite activity is _swooping. _Swooping is bad Alistair. Swooping is very very **bad.**"

"Wait you saw the Archdemon? In the Deep Roads not in some dream?" Alistair stared at Florien, wondering why it was now that he had gotten to hear about the Archdemon the night after Florien had returned to camp, than the minute they had met up again. Well Florien had been looking a bit peakish and Leiliana and Zevran had insisted that Florien rest. Alistair had agreed reluctantly, especially when Florien had gone to Zevran's tent and curled up there instead of in Alistair's. Well not that he could entirely blame him, he'd been missing Florien and had been 'taking his sorrow at being left behind out in the consumption of solidified and odiforous milk curd' as Sten had said. He hadn't really cleaned up his tent from the remnants of his cheese bender and so he was positive it smelled just a little.

But Zevran's tent? That simply didn't sit well with Alistair, Florien should have gone to Wynne, perhaps Morrigan, because he was positive the two mages weren't going to grope or somehow compromise Florien in any manner. Well Morrigan might with her apostatey witchiness but he was pretty sure Wynne could fix that, it wasn't like Morrigan wanted to you know…lick Florien's lamppost in winter.

He also hadn't liked the particular discussion that the two rogues had roped him into after they were sure Florien was asleep.

"Chantry boy, we are going to Redcliffe." Zevran had told him with the ease and confidence of someone who knew he had complete authority. "Yes, I agree with Zevran we are going there." Leiliana had chimed in and Alistair frowned at them. Didn't they know that if they went there that Florien might end up hating him? Well…no they didn't. No one knew except Alistair himself. "Why?" Alistair couldn't help but ask.

"The Warden is worn out. If you have not noticed he is exhausted both mentally and physically and neither happened because I took him to bed. I am certain you have heard of Broodmothers, yes?" Alistair felt the blood drain from his face. He had heard of Broodmothers, had in fact prayed he'd never meet one. For Zevran to bring it up… "I wonder if they always appear with a rather disturbing poem beforehand, if they do it should be useful if we listen for a poem by a ghoul and know that we are about to be attacked by…what was it Oghren called it? Yes a 'ten titty tentacle monster that would never make it in even the raunchiest of dwarven erotica'. Suffice to say that was perhaps the most emotionally damaging thing we encountered in the Deep Roads. Thankfully not made worse since Florien has an aversion to wearing Chantry Priestess robes, he was spared that sort of violation."

"What? Oh that's just wrong what do they teach you in Antiva?" Alistair looked back at Zevran's tent his shock at Zevran's words fading. "Will he be alright?"

"He will be. He simply needs time to recuperate. He does seemingly have the fate of a country if not the entire world resting on his shoulders. Arl Eamon knows you, yes, and you trust him. Redcliffe will be a momentary sanctuary.

So they began their journey before the sun began to rise. It was quiet for the first few hours, Florien couldn't find it in him yet to bring up a conversation since his topics of knowledge were limited. So he thought in the quiet, at the rhythmic sound of two pairs of feet (Leiliana and Zevran were too quiet for Florien to hear). So many unexpected and disastrous things had happened in the month he had left the Circle Tower practically banished. Life was filled with surprises but Florien hadn't thought that there could be ones like the ones he had had, especially so close together.

When he had thought though, that perhaps nothing could surprise him anymore Alistair took him off to the side for a quick 'discussion'. The thought of that discussion made his eye twitch ever so slightly and his hands clench, wishing to wrap his small hands around Arlessa Isolde's pretty pale throat. That wicked utter bitch. Florien felt a deep seated protective rage settle over him when Alistair told him the truth.

Maric's son, Andraste's flaming knickerweasles! No wonder Duncan had told him to protect Alistair. No wonder Alistair was kept from the fighting. Several things clicked into place and all Florien had wanted to do was wrap his arms around Alistair and hold him close. He was wanted, damnit! Florien wanted to shout at him, Florien wanted him by his side and if anyone thought that it was going to be different then they'd be having their shorthairs set on fire. Alistair may be a royal bastard, he did appreciate a good witty one liner, but he was Florien's royal bastard. He was still the goofy cheese loving right hand man of their group, and lineage or no he was staying that way. It also explained Alistair's dislike of leading, how many times could a child be told that they would be nothing, that they were bad if they tried to be in charge, that they started believing it?

Florien was going to have to gently break Alistair of that, despite everything he was Maric's only living son and frankly he was the heir to the throne. Alistair was going to have to lead one day, but right now Florien settled into the role of leader, trying his best to become an example (whether good or bad) for Alistair.

He would give Alistair as much respite as he could before the call of duty would become too much for the elder man. He knew Alistair would never abandon those in need, those who were weak and helpless, and if he simply saw the injustices of the world, the Alienages and perhaps the Circle Tower it would prompt Alistair into wanting the throne.

Yet all musings of the future where Alistair reigned as a glorious king were stopped when they came into Redcliffe. A panicked man met them on the bridge and before Florien could complete the worst possible scenario in his head 'dear Maker Arl Eamon died what are-' his brain shut down. They were being attacked? Attacked by monsters, were they darkspawn? Florien glanced at Alistair wondering if he sensed anything Florien hadn't, but by the troubled look on the other man's features made Florien uneasy. Darkspawn was a no then.

Taken into town Florien found himself wanting to throw his hands up in frustration. Wonderful, great, absolutely fantastic. Florien was beginning to see a trend and it did not bode well for any of them. Sighing in resignation he turned away from Bann Teagan. Wishing for once that life wasn't so damned complicated as a Grey Warden.

A night of fighting Undead, some on fire, some not, but all thoroughly dead yet still moving made Florien want to kick something in frustration. He wanted to sleep in a bed, he wanted a bath, and he had wanted to not worry about being stabbed or ripped apart by something.

Daylight came and Florien told himself that today, he would be ready for any surprises that came his way. He was unfortunately lying to himself when Arlessa Isolde came running down the path.

"Leiliana do we sound like that?" Florien whispered to the pretty Orlesian, eyes trained on the Arlessa. Florien had yet to meet anyone who was as grating on the nerves as this woman. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard; her theatrics were over the top. "No, thank the Maker." She had also stolen his hairstyle and he wanted to kick her for it.

Straightening up Florien took two steps forward. "You're not telling us everything." Florien didn't care if he was accusing someone far above his station. He frankly didn't care he was insulting nobility. He had just spent his night fighting the undead, setting them on fire, having bits of them get on his and into his hair. Granted at least these bits were dried out, but still bits of dead things in his hair! Any self respecting person would shudder at the merest thought of that. He hadn't had a shower, he was dirty, sooty, bruised, bedraggled, and so close to hitting the Arlessa with his staff and getting it over it. "What how impertinent!" She hissed at him and Florien felt his lips curl into a smirk, examining his nails he muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. "Not if it's true." His voice held a singsong quality to it as he examined the Arlessa's reaction through his lashes. He was simply hanging around Morrigan too much as he got delight out of seeing the pretty Arlessa color most unfashionably.

Florien did feel bad for Teagan, how he tried to calm his sister in law down as well as try to come up with a plan. Florien's eyes narrowed into a scowl and before Teagan could be whisked away by the Arlessa his hand reached out and grabbed the Bann and yanked him back. Forcibly dragging the Bann back a few feet Florien faced him. "This is a trap." He liked Teagan, really honestly liked the man. He was sweet and dutiful. He wanted only to protect Redcliffe and he was happy to see Alistair. That always gained favor with Florien now, not that Florien couldn't like people who didn't like Alistair (Morrigan was the best example), but Alistair was his best friend.

Taking the ring and promising to rescue all of them, and by all of them Florien meant Teagan, Eamon, and possibly Conner. He waited for the party of nobles to disappear from sight before rolling his head and going to talk to Ser Gilmore. Cementing their plans Florien sighed and went to the Windmill.

Was it him or was the Veil getting thinner the closer they got to Redcliffe castle? He didn't bring it up with Alistair, yet, but if there was something wrong, if something had sundered the Veil they were going to be in deep shit.

"Hello is someone out there?"

Florien stopped, holding his hand up to halt his party's movements. Zevran, Alistair and Leiliana froze watching Florien's reaction while he stared down the hall towards the cell that the undead had been attacking.

"Non."

Florien felt his throat tighten and he walked forward. Slow silent steps brought him forward to the cell. "Maker's breath! _You._ I never thought I'd see you again."

"Jowan, oh Jowan what have they done to you?" Florien stared through the bars, his friend broken and bleeding. Jowan had been tortured, the bruising on his skin mottled, blood staining his robes and the walls around him. Florien felt his breath hitch in his throat. Twice now he had seen those he had dearly loved caged and tortured.

"What they do to all traitors and would be assassins."

"It was _you? _Andraste's Flaming Knickerweasles Jowan, you tried to kill the Arl?" Florien's hands gripped the bars, his entire focus on Jowan. He didn't see the thunderous expression on Alistair's face, nor did he see the curious looks on Zevran or Leiliana's. His friend his dearest friend who had seemed so smart and in control at the Tower now seemed like a bumbling fool. How he wished everyone else could see what he saw in Jowan, what he now understood of Jowan. He wanted to reach through the bars and smack him, he wanted to heal him. Alistair would have a fit though, and he couldn't afford to lose Alistair's approval right now in a castle filled with undead and monsters.

"I thought I was doing the right thing. Teryn Loghain said…"

"_Teryn Loghain?_" The dangerous tilt to Florien's voice had the air dropping in temperature though oddly flames began to flicker from his fingertips as he gripped the metal in his hands. Jowan had rarely seen Florien display fits of temper, but when the elf was being worn thin everyone needed to avoid him. Florien had a great deal of patience, but when it was gone things tended to explode, be set on fire, or frozen and kicked. Everyone at the Tower had learned the warning signs of Florien's patience being worn down and if Jowan was correct Florien was currently hanging onto his temper by the merest of gossamer threads. Maker help them all.

"Jowan did you cause the undead to appear?" His voice broached no room for lies, the veil thinning dangerously as he stared at Jowan, his eyes lighting almost unnaturally.

"What? No! Flor I wouldn't do that. I swear, they came after I was imprisoned. I couldn't raise anything even if I wanted to right now. You've got to believe me. The only magic I did was to help teach Conner."

"Conner? The Arl's son? He's a mage?" Alistair piped up from behind Florien, his voice piqued with interest. "Yes, the Arless sought and apostate to come and teach the boy, to keep him from the Circle's grasp."

"Do you think he caused this?" Florien's voice was calm and cool, his golden eyes hard as ice. "Perhaps if he made a deal with a demon, a powerful one could cause the havoc that's been happening." A sharp short nod and Florien motioned for Leiliana to come. "Open the door." His voice was cool, his tone commanding. Leiliana moved quickly, opening the door easily and letting it swing open.

Florien stepped up to Jowan, slender hands reaching out and grasping Jowan's robes. He pulled him down but not before hitting the backside of his head with a hand. "I understand, Maker forgive me Jowan but I understand now." His voice was hoarse, his back was turned to his companions, unwilling to let them see the pain in his eyes, the love. Jowan could sense it now, the shift in Florien, the hunger in his eyes, the slow death, the loss of innocence and light. He saw the differences and silently mourned the loss. He had never wanted Florien to follow in his footsteps, but how foolish of him, Florien would follow him for eternity. He should have… it was useless to imagine the what ifs. He wanted to reach up, to touch Florien's face. He wanted to wrap his arms around the elf that meant so much to him, the only family Jowan had left. He wanted to protect him, but look at what he had done. He had started Florien on this hellish path.

He watched with sadness as Florien slipped behind a mask and dragged him out of the cell. He was surprised at the strength Florien put behind the push. "Run. I _never_ want to see you again." Florien spat and Jowan wanted to smile sadly. Did he think he was fooling anyone with that act of anger? The act of contempt? Florien was giving Jowan a final chance to live outside the Chantry's rule.

"You're letting a maleficar go? The one who tried to kill Arl Eamon?"

"Yes, we have more to worry about than maleficars Alistair. There are greater dangers and greater evils. Should we waste precious resources on one man when we could use the man guarding him to fight? No, let the Maker decide what his atonement should be. Now move, if you want I can invoke the Right of Conscription and have him waiting for us in a safe place if that will ease your mind." Florien shoved Alistair towards the door, waiting for Leiliana and Zevran to start moving before he turned to look back at Jowan. Their eyes met for minute, words they could not say, regrets, guilt, pain, forgiveness, and promises. Florien would fix this, and Jowan was going to atone, was going to wait, and maybe one day when Florien learned the secret of the Joining Ritual, how to recreate it, he would bring Jowan into the fold. Protect him like Jowan had protected him years ago from other Apprentices.

They broke their silent conversation with a goodbye and Florien turned to bring up the rear of the group, readying his magic for the eventual fight before them to get to Teagan and the Arl.

Florien was calm; he was cool as he walked up to Arlessa Isolde. No one expected his hand to whip back and smack the noblewoman. No one breathed when for the second time that day Florien's companions watched as the small elven man grabbed a human and brought them down to his height though this time his calm features twisted into a mask of pure unadulterated rage.

"_**You**__ knew."_ Florien's voice was pure venom, the musical notes in his voice captivating, hypnotic and entirely frightening. "He is a mage. Do you think that mages are sent to the Tower because people like being caged? Do you think that perhaps Templars exist for no other reason than to look pretty? You are blaming Jowan for this, when it simply isn't true. Conner was a mage. Was. Notice the past tense. Do you know what he is right now you sanctimonious bitch? He is an abomination."

Isolde sobbed her hands going to Florien's trying to get him off her. "No! No! I was only trying to protect my child. They were going to take him away."

"FOR GOOD REASON!" Florien roared, his voice amplified by magic, the veil thinning as his voice echoed in the main hall as deafening as thunder. "How many people have died because of your selfishness? How many of the villagers have lost a loved one because you couldn't bear to part with your precious boy?"

"Ma cher perhaps you should-"

"They take mage children from people like **you** Arlessa Isolde. Parents who 'love' their children, who cannot teach them the importance of choices, that their actions have far reaching consequences. Blame Jowan, blame Conner himself, if that assuages your conscience you selfish child. But I know who to lay the blame on, and it is you Arlessa. You are the one with the bloodstained hands, the guilty conscience, and I am but a mere elven _mage_ but I am here cleaning your mess. I could kill you to do it, do you know? There are rituals, dark and demonic ones that I could use to sunder the Veil, send another inside to fight the demon. I could use your blood, you life, but I won't. Not because I am not tempted but my Mamae told me once that the best way to punish someone, to make them truly realize the weight of their actions is to defeat them and then make them live knowing that you have seen them for what they truly are. You should know of Mamae Lady Isolde, you are Orlesian and you did go to court once or twice, you have heard her name whispered in fear. The Emprorer's Bloody Rose." Florien sneered when Isolde paled further and Leiliana stifled a gasp. "You have hurt my friends, you have practically destroyed a village, you almost killed your own husband with your own selfishness, and you have possibly damned your child to death. Be very very thankful I am not as inclined as Mamae would have been to use your choices to destroy you. You have done that very well yourself and you can live the rest of your hopefully very long life looking at yourself and knowing that if it weren't for you, weren't for your selfishness, none of this would have happened."

Letting her go and giving her the same disgusted look he gave a Darkspawn corpse as he finished raiding its corpse he wiped his hands. The room was speechless as he turned on his heel and marched in a random direction, towards what looked like a study. A foul curse flew from his mouth as suits of armor came to life and attacked, the sound of metal against metal bringing his companions and other soldiers inside. When the suits were destroyed, the magic controlling them gone, Florien muttered under his breath and stormed into the study.

He went through the books and papers on the desk, fingers flying over documents and pictures, trying to find something, anything to calm him down. His fingers brushed over cool delicate metal and he stopped.

"_You hate me! Because I'm not your sister's child you hate me! That's why you're sending me away. Haven't I done everything to make you happy? To make you love me, but you're choosing her. You're choosing her and sending me away. I don't even want to be his son! Yet you're punishing me for it!"_

_A teen stood in the study, his blond hair long and uneven, and his clothes were second hand at best. He was a little scrawny but there was fire in his eyes as he stared at an older man. He gripped a delicate amulet in his hand._

"_Now Alistair be reasonable…"_

"_I HATE YOU!" He screamed, ripping off the necklace and throwing it at the wall. Watching it shatter into a million pieces of glittering glass dust. "I hate you, so now you don't have to feel 'guilty' about sending me away. I hope she's good in bed Arl Eamon." Alistair sneered and stormed off, trying not to let the tears fall from his face. Florien followed small hands trying to touch, to soothe and hold. "I love you! I promise, don't be mad!" Florien tried to tell him, his voice high and soft. He was only six and Alistair was so much older and bigger it would have been hard to keep up if Florien hadn't grabbed hold of his shirt and let Alistair drag him along unknowingly. Alistair never noticed when Florien was there._

"_Don't cry. Please don't cry." Florien sniffled tugging at Alistair shirt. "Please…" He wrapped his tiny arms around Alistair's neck, standing on his tiptoes to reach it. "Don't cry, I love you. I promise."_

Florien held up the amulet to the faint light, watching as it glittered. He knew it; he remembered this, though the last time he saw it had been years and years ago. He could see the tiny cracks and how painstakingly this delicate thing had been put back together. Sighing Florien put a hand to his face, trying to unwind. He needed to be calm, composed, and not two seconds away from setting Isolde on fire.

"Bann Teagan, can you hold the line for two days?" Florien came back in the room, his face composed and focus entirely on Teagan. The Bann nodded startled. "Good, Alistair, Leiliana, Zevran we're going to the Circle. When we pass the others we're sending them back here to help bolster Bann Teagan's forces. We cannot let a child be killed, he is young enough still to be taught differently and properly to where he may be able to survive his Harrowing. We go to the Tower where we will get Lyrium and mages and hopefully defeat this demon before it kills anyone else."

When they reached the Tower a day later Florien did not hesitate before he grabbed the First Enchanter and began dragging him off to a private room. No one else seemed to notice when Zevran disappeared, Alistair too busy with Leiliana as they spoke with the Templars and mages of the current crisis at Redcliffe.

"That woman was horrible First Enchanter! Does she pick and choose what parts of the Chant she wishes to listen to?"

"Florien your mother hid you from the Circle for years."

"That was different! She told me my magic was a gift, that it was to be used to help people. She was not ashamed of me, she was proud. Despite all what you may believe she was going to send me to the Tower in Orlais when I was ten or elven, old enough to be able to fully remember my mother's love and that going was not a punishment but learning and experience. She wanted me to know of life outside the Tower, to be able to have memories of things other than stone walls and stuffy books. If she truly wanted me out of the Circle's grasp I would have lived with my father amongst the Dalish!"

There was the sound of flesh hitting stone and a half muffled sob. Zevran eased a dagger out, he did not think the old man would be so foolish to hit his Warden but he would not take chances.

"Child calm down, the walls have never done anything particularly terrible to insult you."

"There is so much death out there First Enchanter. People are dying and suffering because of the Blight. Most of their problems are caused not by Blight, but by themselves! All this suffering, pain, and death is exacerbated by Blight, but it was happening before, it could have happened easily at another time. Am I the only one who cares? Am I the only one willing to stop it all?"

"The Greatest among us, the ones who change the world for better or ill are always the one who acts when others are merely content to follow. You will change the world my dear child, and you will save it."

"I will die doing so." Zevran felt chills run along his skin and his eyes widened. There was something so sure in Florien's voice, he knew, somehow some way that his death was certain. He could not let his Warden just accept such things lying down! He could not just expect to end with the Archdemon. Could he?

"Florien? How do you know?"

A ragged sigh filtered from the room and a sniffle, his Warden was truly upset. "I dream Irving. I have dreamed since I was a child. Of the future, of the present. I never told anyone because I didn't want to be made Tranquil! Jowan told me what they do to those they suspect to be maleficars." A half hysterical laugh. "You're right, by the way, I do not know if all who dream like I do turn out this way, but I am maleficar First Enchanter. I am tainted and foul and evil and now I use blood magic." Zevran gave the First Enchanter credit when he did not flinch away or start towards the door.

"Let it out child, this hasn't been easy for you has it? Jowan's betrayal, Ostagar, gathering an army, hiding from the Regent, the Blight. I will not condemn you for finding means to fight the evil plaguing us. Look at me, you are doing your best, you are following the Maker's path, no matter how dark it may seem." Zevran eased through the door, concealed in shadows, watching as Florien's face crumpled and his darling mage cried clinging to the old man. His sobs were heart wrenching, enough so that Zevran realized he still had a heart because that could be the only thing twisting so terribly at the sound of pain from their supposedly fearless leader. He was surprised his mage didn't curl up in a ball and refuse to fight any longer, already going above and beyond duty, fighting impossible odds just to get here.

"We will save the child, there will be goodness in this world to save Florien. Shhh, stay here as long as you like I need to start gathering supplies if we are to leave in the morning." Irving let Florien go, walking to the door he gave the spot where Zevran stood hidden a calculating glance before going out of the room and shutting the door behind him. Zevran moved silently to where Florien stood and wrapped his arms around him.

"Zev" Florien's voice was hoarse and raw from crying, and he could tell just by the tone that his eyes were still filled with tears. "Zevran." He repeated and turned, clinging to the older elf like a lifeline. Zevran felt a hint of anger towards the Maker at giving this young little mageling such a heavy burden. He was surprised to hear what he first thought were nonsensical whimpers to be his own native tongue, garbled by having Florien's face pressed against his neck and the irregular breathing that came with sobbing.

It took him a moment to piece together what the younger elf was saying but when he did he tilted Florien's face upwards. He brushed his thumb against those trembling lips and he stared down into watery golden eyes.

"If that is what you wish, I will never leave your side Florien."

He should feel bitterness that the one he was oathbound to wanted to keep him. They had talked of it before and Florien had spoken of ravishment after the celebration of defeating the Blight, yet he always seemed willing to let Zevran go and do as he wished.

_I am going to die._

The words haunted him in his mind. Florien would let him go because Florien was certain he was going to die. That he could feel bitterness towards. He would not leave though, not while Florien drew breath, because he suddenly realized Florien needed him. Yes, he may love both Alistair and Zevran, but Florien needed only Zevran. He needed Zevran and only asked for Zevran's presence. He didn't ask for love, Zevran couldn't give him that, he didn't ask for Zevran to change, for Zevran didn't think he could, he just asked that Zevran be Zevran.

Zevran moved his thumb out of the way and leaned down, brushing his lips against Florien's. He cradled the back of Florien's head with his calloused hand, wishing that Florien's hair was down so he could tangle his hand in the silken locks. He slanted his mouth and owned the kiss, owned Florien's mouth, reassured him with his warmth and presence. He could seduce Florien here, take him in this room, but Zevran restrained. The kiss lasted until Florien pulled away gasping for breath and looking delightfully delicious, Zevran licked the mage's lips teasingly and was rewarded with a surprised gasp and a rosy flush to pale cheeks.

"Where do you want to take this Florien?" Zevran's voice was a purr as he stroked the back of Florien's neck.

"I…do not know." Came the breathless reply which made something stir with in Zevran.

"Then let me make it simple. I will not ask more than what you are willing to give."

Zevran wondered what the sad shadow was that flickered across Florien's eyes. He didn't dwell when Florien smiled softly.

"Then it shall be as you wish."

He wondered why that answer didn't appeal to him as much as it normally would. It was easier to hold no real claim on each other, they were both beautiful and could have their pick of anyone they chose. Still he felt almost dissatisfied with how he had put terms on their liason. This would keep them from getting hurt or having expectations the other couldn't fulfill.

He gently wiped the tear tracks on Florien's face, helping to make him look presentable. He looked calmer now, more at ease, as if Irving's approval and Zevran's kiss were all that was needed to make his world right again. Zevran liked thinking he had that power over someone so much more powerful than he was. He wasn't at a disadvantage with Florien, the boy was practically a virgin and could be manipulated to suit his whims, so long as it didn't hurt their main journey against the Archdemon.

"Come now my dear Warden, let us go back before your Templar thinks I am doing wicked unspeakable Chantry forbidden things to you." There it was, a smile, a real one lighting up Florien's face. Zevran settled back into his usual stance, sweeping his arm out. "Ladies first." A snort and a roll of his eyes Florien moved ahead of Zevran and opened the door, leading him back down to the main floor of the Tower.

The return trip back to Redcliffe was spent with Florien chattering with the other mages about mage things. Really Zevran didn't know what they were talking about and from the looks Alistair and Leiliana. It was almost a relief to get to Redcliffe and watch the mages set up the ceremony.

"Who is being sent into the Fade?"

"I am First Enchanter." Florien stepped forward. He would not ask anyone else to do this, not because he was too proud but because it was his plan to begin with. He should be the one executing it.

Florien lay on the ground unconscious far too long for Zevran or Alistair's liking. He looked so pale and fragile laying there, his head tilted to one side to accommodate his bun. When his eyes opened Zevran moved to his side, helping the pale and shaken Florien up.

"It is destroyed." Florien said quietly and the castle seemingly sighed in relief. "A Desire Demon, skanky self fondling nug humping bitches." He muttered under his breath and Zevran smiled at the use of such coarse language coming from his Warden. Oghren was a most inventive man with his curses and one couldn't help but pick up some of the more colorful and frequently used phrases.

"We still need to cure Eamon." Teagan piped up and Florien wanted to strangle the man, in all good Andrastian love of course. "The Urn! You must find the Urn." Isolde piped up and Florien sent her a quelling glare, it was only Alistair's desperately pleading eyes that had Florien backing down. He tried to deny Alistair nonverbally, he tried to look away but those damn eyes were sucking him in. Did the older man have to look like a kicked puppy who you were attempting to abandon on the side of the road?

"Fine. You owe me Alistair. Tell me where to start looking… Maker I'm going to regret this, Blight or no Blight."


End file.
